The Four Horsemen
by gioia99
Summary: AU. What if Oliver made a different choice on the Amazo? What if he chose to cure Slade rather than kill him? What if they made it back to the Island with Sara and were found not by ARGUS, but by Nyssa? How would things have been different? Years later emerges not one vigilante, but four. Four Horsemen. And together, they will change everything. LoA Oliver and Slade
1. The Four Horsemen

**Welcome all to what is my first Arrow story.**

 **I've had this idea bouncing around in my head for quite some time now, but I've never been confident enough in my ability to write it until now. (Plus the fact that the actual show is so unbearable to watch now, I need some sort of catharsis to get back to the glory days of season 1 and 2).**

 **The premise goes as: 'What if Oliver made a different choice on the Amazo? What if he chose to cure Slade rather than kill him? How would things have been different?'**

 **Throw in a healthy dash of everyone's favourite Assassins and… well… this was the result.**

 **Disclaimer: I do not own Arrow, or any of its characters or plot points. If I did, things would be very, very different.**

 **Enjoy.**

 _I SAW THEM RIDING, REPENTANT NOT AT ALL..._

 _FOUR HORSES AND FOUR HORSEMEN PROVED THAT EVEN THE MIGHTY FALL..._

 _Prologue_

He ran.

Laboured breaths echoed off empty alleyways, his feet splashed in the puddles left by lashing rain, and all the while lightning crackled grimly overhead.

The dark and grimy underbelly of Starling City flashed by in a tunnelled veil.

He had no idea where he was running to, he just had one thought on his mind.

 _Escape._

There was no one around to help him, no allies to give him cover, no witnesses to his terror. All his comrades had long ago abandoned him. Well… the lucky ones had…

A night that had started with the promise of millions, and a ditzy star studded life surrounded by cocaine and strippers, now had him running for his life. Where had it all gone wrong?

It was only meant to be a simple goddamn drug deal!

Times had been good in recent years for the gangs of Starling. An underfunded police force stretched too thin coupled with a corrupt courts system – The result of a severely fractured stock market in the wake of Robert Queen's death – had meant rich pickings for anyone in the 'feel good' industry, and while by day the city appeared normal, night time was a whole other story.

Gangs ran rampant in the city limit suburb of the Glades, creating a lawless world ruled by violence and terror, a world where even the most grizzled uniform was afraid to enter. Kidnap, rape and murder were all frequent occurrences. It was a disease, a bubonic plague that was now spreading to the rest of the city, and it seemed as though no one would be able to do anything to stop it.

Until tonight.

Until this deal.

This deal was different.

He flinched at another flash of lightning, accompanied by the boom of thunder in his ears, bringing with it the most gruesome of flashbacks.

The meet had gone down just as it had dozens of times before. An abandoned warehouse. The clock had struck midnight. The supply had been exchanged for cash. All was good.

And then, suddenly, it wasn't.

Suddenly, all was very, _very_ not good.

 _It started with an arrow. Would you believe it? Of all the things…_

 _Green flecked and deadly, it came seemingly from nowhere, slamming into the ringleader's hand, knocking the final bag from his grip and pinning it to the ground._

 _He looked up to the rafters in shock. There was no one there._

 _Incensed, the leader raised his pistol – an enormous Magnum .44 – and fired several booming rounds up at the ceiling. They waited, tensed, as silence fell again. Nothing._

 _Then it came…_

 _A deep, deep guttural chuckle, echoing through the building, permeating their very flesh with its sinister foreboding. "You missed…" the voice said in a distinctly Australian accent._

 _The gang leader fired off the rest of his ammunition. Still nothing._

" _Who THE FUCK are you?" he yelled into the night air._

 _It was a long time before he got a reply. "Who am I?" It echoed. "I am no one. The question you should be asking is:_ Who are we _?"_

 _The gang leader never got the chance to reply. For it was then that the lightning flashed again, lighting up the windows, and he suddenly felt a searing pain in his chest. When the light died, and he got his vision back, he looked down and saw another green and black arrow had been fired. This time into his chest…_

 _The arrow quivered. The man dropped. The gunfire started._

 _And what followed was a massacre._

The hapless gangster shot into another alley. He sprinted down its narrow length before vaulting the low wall at its end. Anything, anything he could do to get away.

He'd never even _seen_ them. Once his friends started falling and his gun ran dry of ammunition, he'd cut his losses and legged it, the screams of those he had left behind echoing in his ears.

The lightning flashed once more, and he skidded to a halt.

There, illuminated by the raw electricity in the sky, stood a silhouetted figure on the building in front of him. He couldn't tell if they were male or female, for they had a hood on, but he wouldn't have noticed anyway. His eyes were drawn to the wicked looking bow in their hands, and they widened in fear.

Turning on his heels, he sprinted down the street to his right.

Arms and legs heaving, and through his own laboured breaths, he suddenly heard something whizzing behind him. He instinctively dropped to the ground, just in time as another arrow shot overhead. He caught a glimpse of the green fletching, before scrambling back to his feet and turning left down the next alleyway.

He immediately screeched to a halt.

There, in front of him, was a second figure.

This one was definitely a woman, illustrated by her platinum blonde hair and the tight black corset wrapped around her body. Her ample cleavage would have been very distracting if it weren't for the _two fucking swords in her hands!_

He whipped his head back and forth frantically, assessing his options.

Death by sword, or death by arrow. Neither was particularly inviting.

His eyes lit up with hope when he saw the ladder running up the side of the building next to him, and he raced towards it, hauling his now-sodden frame up like his life depended on it. Which… it really sort of did…

The blonde didn't move. He never saw the smirk cross her face.

Pulling himself up onto the roof, he resumed his desperate getaway. The next building across, he saw an open door on the maintenance access on the roof, and he felt a glimmer of salvation.

 _If he could just get to that, and hide inside the building…_

He reached the edge and made the leap of his life.

He sailed through the air, towards the far balcony, fingers outstretched reaching for its concrete lip…

He never got there.

It was at that moment a length of black silk wrapped around his legs, tangling them and halting his momentum in an instant, and his stomach lurched in horror as he stopped in mid-air and began plummeting downwards.

He screamed as the ground rushed up, faster and faster, but he never hit it.

Suddenly, spectacularly, another arrow flew like a bullet, piercing the _other_ end of the black fabric and then driving itself into the wall. Whatever the fabric was made of, it definitely wasn't silk, because it didn't tear one bit when his entire bodyweight stretched it taught, leaving him hanging in the air barely two metres above the ground.

Panicked, he looked up to try and loosen the fabric around his feet, but froze when he saw the arrow. This one was different. While the other one had been black and green, this one was black and _red._

Then he heard the footsteps. He looked around rapidly, and finally he saw who it was that had been chasing him, and his terror became extreme.

They emerged out of the shadows like wraiths. Hyenas, stalking their prey. There was nothing even _remotely_ friendly about their posture. Everything about them was predatory to its core.

There were four of them in total.

Two with bows, two with swords.

The first archer had a male physique, and was dressed head to toe in dark green leather, barely a shade above black. Across his chest was some seriously high tech inter-woven body armour, and in his hands was a deadly looking recurve bow. The hilt of a sword poked out from behind his back, next to his quiver, while smaller flechette arrows were attached to both wrists. His face was completely hidden by a hood.

Standing next to him was the blonde he had seen earlier. Up close, her thin-bladed swords looked even more dangerous, if that were at all possible, but while earlier she had held one in each hand, now they were joined together at the hilt, creating a double bladed bo-staff. A simple domino mask disguised her face.

The other archer was shorter, more feminine looking. Similarly hooded, she wore red and black armour. The veil across her mouth and nose revealed only her long hair, black as the night, and a pair of distinctly Eurasian eyes. Her bow was short and sturdy. A compound, beautiful and deadly in equal measure. A broad-bladed short-sword was strapped in a holster at her hip.

It was the final figure that turned his blood to ice though. Scary as the other three were, they had _nothing_ on this man.

And he was clearly a man. He was thickly built, tall, and the samurai sword in his grip was still splattered red with the blood of the other unfortunate gangsters. While he wore similar armour to the others - Jet black, with metallic forearm guards on both arms, the same interwoven chest armour, and a utility belt positively _gleaming_ with every kind of dagger – his mask was different. It covered his entire face, revealing nothing but his cold, dark eyes. Split in its centre, one half was black, the other a dark, flame orange.

The gangster swung helplessly, upside down in the air.

"Please…" he begged, "I'm just trying to survive."

The blonde smiled cruelly. "Aren't we all?" her voice was soft, smooth.

"I- I've got information!" he tried, "You let me go I'll tell you everything! There's dozens of guys out there, much worse than me, I swear!"

The green archer laughed mirthfully. "What makes you think we don't already have it?"

His eyes widened, and he felt water building in his eyes.

The man with the sword turned to the green archer. "Can I have this one?" he rumbled, out of earshot.

"No, you had the last one." The archer replied.

"So?"

"So leave some for us will you?"

The sword man shrugged. "Not my fault you're too slow kid…"

"Gentlemen." The red archer interrupted. Her accent was foreign, silky smooth. "If you would kindly cease comparing your swords, we do have a job to finish."

The man with the sword still grumbling to himself, the four turned as one back to the tied up man. He was now sobbing violently. "Please…" he cried, "I didn't do anything to deserve this."

"Sure you did…" the green archer growled, raising his bow and aiming right between the man's eyes.

"Here it comes…" the sword man muttered, rolling his eyes.

The last thing the gangster heard before the arrow pierced his skull and sent him into oblivion, was the archer's chilling words.

" _You have failed this city."_


	2. Salvation?

**Wow… I know this particular storyline is kinda popular but I never expected such a positive reaction to the first chapter, thank you all for following and for your positive reviews, it means a lot.**

 **For this story, I was heavily inspired by Stegro88's 'Heir Apparent' as well as 'Legends of Canarrow' by QueenCanarrowDeathstroke. Both stories are benchmarks in their field, and if my work can be half as good as theirs, I'll be very happy indeed.**

 **In some ways, this is a blending of the two, in terms of Nyssa and Slade working together alongside Oliver and Sara, which I don't think has been done before. Some elements may be similar, but I fully intend on making this my own story, with original plot points. Any similarities are coincidental, or forced to be that way, but nothing is plagiarised from other stories, I promise.**

 **I know a lot of you had questions about various things. Hopefully you find some answers in this chapter, though it is my recommendation to read it carefully.**

Trees.

Rocks.

Dirt.

The scenery raced by in the dim, early morning light as the three figures ran.

The branches flicking at their arms were ignored, as were the sharp stones beneath their feet. Humidity permeated the air, saturating their ragged clothes with sweat, sticking them to their skin.

This did not bother them. They were used to it. More than that, they had somewhere they needed to be…

Picking their route carefully, they came to a sudden, sheer rockface, about four metres in height. Such an obstacle did nothing to deter them however, and one sprinted ahead, sliding to a perfect stop in a crouched position at its base.

Working in perfect harmony, another – a man in a green hood with a shaggy beard poking out of it – upped his pace and leapt onto the first ones back, vaulting off it and latching the top of the rock with his fingertips.

With incredible strength, he hauled himself effortlessly up, before reaching down and grabbing the wrist of a blonde woman in tattered clothes – the third of the trio – and pulled her up too.

The woman purposely left one of her legs hanging down, just low enough for the first figure to jump up and grabbed it. They pulled themselves up the woman's body and all three found themselves on top of the cliff.

And there they saw it.

In the distance, about two hundred metres off shore, was their salvation: a small fishing boat, patrolling the shallow coastal inlet for the day's catch.

After glancing at each other quickly, the three wasted no time running after it. They leapt over small boulders and tree stumps with ease, weaving back and forth in the undergrowth, ascending higher and higher all the way, until eventually, they came to what they were looking for:

A clearing, high above the nearby shore of the island they were on.

The man crouched low, unfurled a protective tarp and pulled from within it an ornate recurve bow. Just over a metre in length, it was jet black with a series of Arabic carvings along the handgrip, while a small brass ringlet protected the user's fingers. The entire thing was sleek, beautiful, and positively _evil._

Holding the bow firmly in his left hand, he retrieved an arrow from the blonde woman, before turning to his right and facing the third figure.

"Your shot or mine?"

The third person, another woman – this one with eastern features, long, ratty black hair and in similarly tattered clothes - shook their head. "It should be you, beloved." They said gently.

The man nodded, and took a deep breath before striking the arrow against a rock, igniting the material around its head in an instant.

Calmly, with a steely gaze, he drew the bow tight and took aim at a pile of wood strategically placed on the shore, in full sight of the boat.

Briefly, he flashed back to a similar shot he had made in another time, another life. That time, he had missed. He knew there was no such chance this time, but the memory was still amusing.

It was just one of many memories he had of this place, this purgatory. Most were painful beyond measure, and he would do anything to forget them, but for all the suffering they held, each was a snapshot, a moment in time that helped shape him into who he was this day. They became him, defined him.

They had changed his life.

The blonde woman stood on her toes and placed a feather light kiss on his cheek. "You've got this…" she whispered.

The faintest of smiles formed in the corner of his mouth. He closed his eyes. Felt the wind on his face. Heard the bowstring tighten.

Then he released.

He never broke eye contact as the arrow sailed through the air, impacting perfectly with the kerosene soaked wood pile on the beach, and the next instant it erupted in a fireball, lighting up the sky in a furious ball of light and heat.

The three shielded their eyes from the glare, and when it cleared, all that was left in its midst was the boat that was now changing its course.

It was now moving towards them.

The man lowered his bow, his eyes lingering on the approaching boat.

"Come." The black-haired woman spoke up. "We do not wish to keep our rescuers waiting in this cold."

The three turned away and began making their way down from the lookout, towards the beach that the boat was now approaching.

They stopped along the way to retrieve one thing: a large green crate marked with Chinese symbols before continuing on, eventually emerging from the trees onto the sandy shoreline. They stood side by side holding hands, with the blonde woman in the middle as the boat made it ashore.

The Chinese fishermen looked astonished. And so they should have been. It did not seem believable that anyone would be able to survive on one of these islands in such desolate conditions, let alone three, yet here they were.

The fishermen quickly ushered the three castaways onto their vessel, wrapping them in blankets and offering them hot tea, which they all accepted gratefully.

Huddled closely together, the three locked eyes, silently conveying a message. A promise, one that was their duty to fulfil.

The man removed his hood and allowed his tangled sandy brown hair to fall free, revealing icy blue eyes. He watched the Island disappearing into the distance behind him. Five years worth of memories flooded his mind. Five years that was about to come to an end.

But as one journey finished, another was just beginning.

…

 _Oliver Queen is alive!_

 _Found by fishermen in the North China Sea five days ago, his rescue comes five years after he was announced missing and declared dead following an accident at sea which claimed the '_ Queen's Gambit'

 _Queen was a regular tabloid presence and a fixture at the Starling City club scene. Shortly before his disappearance, he was acquitted of charges stemming from a highly publicised drunken altercation with paparazzi._

 _Queen is the son of billionaire Robert Queen, who was also on board at the time, but is now officially confirmed as deceased. Miraculously, he was found accompanied by fellow Starling City resident Sara Lance, and another woman who is yet to be identified. How all three were able to survive, and how they recover from this ordeal, is something only time will tell._

 _In other news, there has yet to be another sighting of the four suspected Vigilantes, who have been plaguing our streets for the last month…_

The news report went unnoticed as Moira Queen hurried down the hospital corridor, Quentin Lance hot on her heels.

Both were desperate to see their children after years of grief, mourning and sleepless nights believing them to be gone forever.

Having been told at the service desk that the three had refused to be separated, they stopped just outside the door, where they were met by a man whose badge identified him as Dr Lamb.

"Where are they? Are they alright?" They questioned rapidly.

Dr Lamb held his hands up placatingly. "Mr Lance, Mrs Queen, I understand your concern, and you may see them in a moment but I need to talk to the both of you first."

Moira frowned. "Why, what's wrong?"

The doctor took a deep breath.

"Did something happen to them… while there were… gone?" Quentin asked nervously.

Dr Lamb fixed them with a serious look, one that brought a lump to their throats. "I'm afraid so…" he said sadly, turning to Moira.

"It is a standard procedure to examine the physical condition of any missing person. This check revealed that twenty percent of Oliver's body is covered in scar tissue. We found burns on his back and arms, the remnants of blade incisions all across his torso, and what appears to be a shark bite on his hip. The X-rays we took showed twelve fractures that never properly healed."

Moira gasped, and clutched her chest in anguish at the description of what had happened to her son.

"And Sara?" Quentin asked anxiously, almost not wanting to hear the answer. "What about my baby girl?"

"Sara looks to have received the same injuries. She has the same incisions on her torso, and we identified ten imperfectly healed fractures, most of which were ribs. There are no burns or bites, but she had scar tissue on her back that we've never seen before. Miss Raatko is similarly scarred, but we have been unable to locate any relatives of hers to contact. Interestingly, all three of them have an identical triangular tattoo on their shoulder blade. We believe they gave the marks to each other"

Before they could say anything else, the doctor led Quentin away from Moira, out of earshot. "Deep tissue damage on Sara's lower belly is indicative of an improvised caesarean." He said gravely.

Quentin choked, and felt like he was about to collapse where he stood. _Sara could have been pregnant? What the hell had happened on that Island?_

"Have they said anything about what happened?" Moira found her words first, as Quentin was still too shocked to speak.

Dr Lamb shook his head sadly. "They've barely said anything. Mr Lance, Mrs Queen, I think you should prepare yourselves. The people in that room might not be the same ones you lost."

He bowed his head, and Moira muttered a sombre 'thank you' as she moved past and prepared to open the door to the room.

…

The lights of Starling were different, Oliver thought as he looked out the window. That stupid wig and beard were long gone, and thankfully his hair was back to its normal, close cropped length.

He'd seen the lights recently of course, but there was something different about seeing them through his own eyes, per se, instead of the persona of an assassin. They were softer, more familiar.

Humanising.

"What are you thinking?" a voice came up alongside him.

He turned and saw Sara standing beside him, her hair washed and her face clean. Without thinking, he stretched out and grasped her hand, their fingers intertwining instinctually.

He sighed. "Would you believe me if I said I wished Slade were here?" he looked back out.

"Yes." She replied softly after a moment.

"Of all of us, he's the one that deserved a proper rescue..."

"You know why he couldn't." an accented voice spoke up, and the two looked over at a chair in the corner of the room, in which sat the aforementioned 'Miss Raatko'.

Or as they knew her: Nyssa Al Ghul.

The raven haired beauty rose from her seat elegantly, and made her way over to join them at the window. "There could only be three of us, and it was better to have yourselves and a total stranger rescued off Lian Yu instead of a former government spy." She said quietly, "Just as it was better for us to start our crusade before said 'rescue'. We can't afford any questions."

"I understand." Oliver replied, also keeping his voice low. All three of them knew the security cameras in their room would pick up any audio. "You two are much better company anyway…"

Nyssa smirked at that, while Sara snuffed a laugh.

"Now, get ready you two." Nyssa ordered, "I believe your parents are outside as we speak. You remember the plan, yes?"

Both Oliver and Sara nodded. "It's a fine line we have to walk." Oliver said. "Between survivors, individuals, and who we were before. We have to be seen as struggling, but not enough to get put in the psyche ward…"

"No suspicion." Sara added lowly.

Nyssa nodded, and all three stilled instantly when the door handle clicked, and it took everything they had to quell their instincts to attack.

"Oliver?" "Sara?" two voices asked, more than called.

Oliver and Sara span around together, laying eyes on their respective parents for the first time in five years. Even with all their training, they couldn't push down the sudden rushing emotions.

"Mom…" Oliver whispered as she crushed him in a desperate hug.

"My beautiful boy…" she said tearfully, hugging him as if she never wanted to let him go.

Meanwhile, Sara stood still as she locked eyes with her father. Everything was telling her to go to him, but something buried in the depths of her subconscious was keeping her where she was.

Quentin raced over to her, the conversation outside the door forgotten for now. All he cared about was seeing his daughter alive! He needed to touch her, hold her, just to convince himself she was real. He made to throw his arms around her when suddenly, she did something he never could have expected.

She backed away.

"No…" she whispered frantically. "Please… No!"

She cowered away from her own father as old memories returned with a vengeance. She whipped her head around, desperately seeking sanctuary.

She found it in Oliver's arms, and she locked her arms tightly around his ribcage, tears staining his shirt as she began sobbing violently. It broke her heart. She knew it was her father, but she couldn't help it. All she saw was a man advancing on her…

Quentin felt like his heart had just been ripped from his body, seeing his baby girl react that way. It brought back all of his fears from before, along with his anger at Oliver, for cheating on Laurel and condemning Sara to that Island, turning her into… whatever she was now. Too afraid to even look at him.

"What did you do to her?" he growled, advancing towards the younger man. "What did you do to her!"

He was stopped by the final person in the room jumping in front of him, and intercepting his hand before he could push Oliver away from Sara. Shocked, and in not a small amount of pain at the vice-like grip pinning his wrist, he looked down and saw an unfamiliar woman blocking his path. Her face was like concrete.

"I would advise against that." She told him in a voice cold as ice.

"Mr Lance, I promise you I did nothing to Sara." Oliver said quietly as he stroked the blonde's back. "I know you are her family, but that Island turned us into one of our own. If you try to break apart that family, we will fight back."

There was no malice in his voice, but Quentin was shocked by the sincerity in which he spoke. It was nothing like the Oliver of old.

He looked from Oliver, back to the woman in front of him. "You must be Miss Raatko?"

She regarded him for a moment, then nodded. "I am Nyssa." she confirmed.

"Well would you mind letting me go?" he said as calmly as he could. "That's my daughter over there. I promise I won't hurt her, I just need to see her."

Satisfied that he had calmed down, Nyssa released him, and he swallowed before extending his hand towards his daughter. "Sara… it's me…" he told her, almost pleadingly. "It's your father…"

Sara seemed to force herself to lift her head from Oliver's chest, and she looked at him with watery eyes.

Slowly, almost reluctantly, she brought her hand up to meet his, and Quentin felt tears of his own beginning to fall at the sensation of his daughter's hand in his after five years.

"I'm sorry daddy…" she whispered, "It's been a long time…"

"I understand baby." Quentin managed to get out, "But you're back now. You're safe."

He stroked the back of her hand with his thumb, and when she gave him a small, soft smile his heart nearly burst with joy.

Finally, his daughter was back.

 **I know not a lot technically happened here. We're barely into the first episode, but there is a reason for this. Expect these first few chapters to be quite slow as I like to get all my set-up done early, so the later action flows together, and I find these establishing chapters easier to read if they are shorter.**

 **Regarding pairings, well, I hope this chapter answered some of those questions, if indirectly. Yes, Oliver, Sara and Nyssa are together as a three, although this relationship is centred around Sara for an important reason. I will accept absolutely zero complaints about Nyssa being with Oliver, until the person doing said complaining has gone around and posted the same complaint on EVERY story where straight characters are paired together, otherwise you are nothing but a hypocrite. As for Slade, I've got something special in mind for him, that I'm going to stay tight lipped on (I hope it'll be a big surprise.)**

 **Moving forward, I don't know exactly how long this story will go for, but I know exactly how it will end. I don't intend on doing full season rewrite, instead elements from the first five seasons will all be combined along with some fruity ideas of my own. Flashbacks to Oliver curing Slade and how they joined the League of Assassins, along with what happened to Sara will all be told, so stay tuned for those too.**

 **I don't know how regularly I can update, because I have a couple of other projects that are taking priority at the moment, but I'll try and get a new chapter up every week or so.**

 **Thanks for reading, and enjoy the rest of the story.**


	3. Reunion

After being kept in the hospital overnight, Oliver, Sara and Nyssa were told they were free to go the following morning. They were greeted by Moira, who signed for their discharge papers as well as Oliver's green crate – the only possession they had brought back with them - before leading the trio discreetly to a side exit so as to avoid the swarming paparazzi at the front.

Nyssa barely held back from rolling her eyes at the luxurious Bentley that awaited them – chauffer and all – but took her seat in the back alongside Oliver and Sara without a word.

In fact, most of the drive back was in silence, save for Sara asking where her father was, to which Moira replied that, after a long discussion the night before, the two parents had admitted it would probably be best if the three stayed together, at least while they were recovering, and Quentin had reluctantly agreed that the Queen mansion was best.

Sara was careful to disguise her relief that her father hadn't fought too hard to get her separated from Oliver and Nyssa. As much as she was happy to be home, and to see her family again, she just wasn't ready yet, especially when it came to facing her sister…

She mulled over her thoughts in silence, staring absently out the window of the limousine at the passing scenery. As if sensing the blonde's distress, Nyssa wordlessly offered her hand. Sara took it gratefully, squeezing her hand as they pulled off the road and onto the Queens' extensive driveway.

Upon pulling up at the entrance to the mansion, Oliver was quick to exit his seat, racing around to the back of the car and halting the butler from picking up his crate with a quiet, but firm "I've got it."

Although perplexed, the butler acquiesced and Oliver lifted the crate easily before joining Nyssa and Sara. Moira's furrowed eyebrows at her son's behaviour were not missed by any of them. If she had an opinion however, she didn't voice it as she led them towards the front doors.

Oliver found himself assaulted by a thousand memories when the heavy timber doors swung open to reveal his childhood home, a place he hadn't seen for five years. He stopped in his tracks.

Up until now, the sensation of being back hadn't really hit him, not in the hospital, and certainly not when he had been patrolling the streets at night, but here, now, as he walked inside and heard the familiar creak of the old floorboards, the realisation finally dawned on him.

 _He was home!_

A small, rueful smile ghosted across his features, and he subconsciously pulled Sara closer to him as Moira spoke. "Your room is exactly how you left it…" she said cheerfully, "We didn't have the heart to change anything."

Oliver set his crate down inconspicuously in the corner, just inside the doors, when an unfamiliar dark skinned man came out from one of the hallways.

"Oliver! It's damn good to see you." He said sincerely as he approached.

Oliver looked him up and down warily. The way he spoke suggested this man knew him, but he didn't recognise him.

"It's Walter, Walter Steele." The man prompted as he extended his hand.

"Oliver, don't you remember Walter? He was your father's friend from the company." Moira added.

"No, sorry…" Oliver started as he shook Walter's hand. At the feel of cold metal, he looked down and saw a simple, yet exquisite diamond ring on the older man's ring finger. "It's been five years, some faces are a little rusty." He explained after a moment, and Walter nodded at him before he moved past, leaving Walter facing the remaining occupants in the room.

"I'm glad the pair of you survived." He said, moving on to Sara. "I can't imagine what you must have gone through."

"We had each other, Mr Steele." Sara returned quietly "That was enough."

"I can understand that." Walter told her warmly as he placed a hand on her shoulder, before looking to the person at her side. "I don't believe we have met, I'm Walter."

Nyssa took his offered hand. "My name is Nyssa." She said simply, "I was rescued with Oliver and Sara."

Walter raised his eyebrows. "I like your accent. You aren't from the UK by any chance?"

"Oh don't get him started!" Moira interrupted, jumping hastily between the two in hopes of avoiding an inevitable deliberation on why tea is the only acceptable refreshment.

Meanwhile, Oliver had spotted a familiar face. "It's good to see you Raisa." He said, moving towards the Russian lady.

"Welcome home Mr Oliver." The kindly maid said, before looking at Moira. "Mr Merlyn called, he asked if he could join you for dinner."

"Of course!" Moira replied, when suddenly a slamming door echoed through the mansion, and everyone turned to look at the top of the left staircase, where the noise had come from.

"Oliver, did you hear that?" Moira asked, but she got no answer as Oliver was already moving up the stairs.

He stopped when he laid eyes on the one person he was aching to be reunited with. "Thea…" he breathed at the sight of his sister.

Gone were the pigtails and chubby cheeks of her youth, and in their place was a lean, lithe and stunning young woman. Somewhat oddly, despite the warm temperature inside the house, she was dressed in jeans and a long sleeved blouse.

Just like him, she froze at the sight of her brother. On hearing him say her name, she snapped out of her trance and raced down the stairs, practically _leaping_ into his arms.

Oliver staggered backwards when she crashed into him, relying on all of his training to avoid falling down the stairs, and he wrapped his arms around her small frame, pulling her tightly against him, so tightly that he could _feel_ her trembling from the emotions.

"I knew it… I knew you were alive." She whispered in pure relief. "I missed you so much…"

"You were with me the whole time." He told her, and she tearfully buried her head into his shoulder.

Watching from the side, Sara and Nyssa shared a sad look. Should they ever be reunited with their own siblings, they doubted it would be as joyful…

…

After introducing Thea to Nyssa, and allowing her to take them on a tour around the house, the three excused themselves to Oliver's room. Once they were all inside, Oliver shut the door and flicked the lock shut with a barely audible 'click'.

"So, what is it like being home?" Nyssa questioned as she sat down on the edge of the king bed dominating the room, after allowing Oliver the time to re-familiarise himself with the surroundings.

"It's…" Oliver started, picking up the model of the globe that had sat untouched on his desk for five years. He blew off the thin layer of dust that had gathered on it, before replacing it and moving over to the bookshelf. "I don't know what to think. When your father granted us permission to cleanse the city, and fulfil my father's dying wish, I never expected him to allow me to 'return' like this."

"And yet he did." Nyssa told him quietly, "And for that you should be thankful."

"Should I?" Oliver replied, "I mean… up until now I could handle everything, but seeing Thea…" he sighed and turned away. "It just reminded me that one day I'll have to leave her again…"

"That may be so, but did you see the way her eyes lit up when she saw you?" Nyssa pointed out, "At least she knows you're alive now. Whatever the future holds, nothing will be able to take that away from her."

Oliver said nothing

"You'll have made a better place for her to live in, Ollie." Sara said from off to the side, "We both will have, for both our families. Remember that."

She raised her head and kissed him softly on his lips, and in turn he closed his eyes, savouring the sensation.

"I will." He whispered when they broke apart, before turning to look at the entrance to the bathroom.

"I'm going to take a shower, get rid of the smell of hospital." He announced. "Care to join?"

On seeing Sara's unusual hesitance, Nyssa chose that moment to interject. "You go ahead, Oliver." She told him, "I wish to speak with Sara alone."

Looking from her, back to Sara, Oliver understood instantly. "Okay." He said softly, kissing Sara one more time, before walking into the bathroom and closing the door behind him, leaving the two women on their own.

Nyssa waited until she heard the water running, before standing and joining Sara, who was looking out of the window.

"This is about what happened at the hospital, isn't it?" She asked gently.

She watched as Sara looked down guiltily, saw a tear drip from her eye before the blonde nodded.

"I know what you're going to say." She replied in a small voice. "I know it wasn't part of the plan to appear so weak, I just… saw him… coming towards me…"

She was unable to stop a fresh round of tears falling as the memories came back again, and Nyssa was quick to wrap her in a hug.

"My own father…" Sara sobbed into Nyssa's shoulder. The Heir to the Demon said nothing, she just waited patiently as Sara cried her trauma out, releasing the built up stress and anxiety in a way they only could when they were together, away from the prying, judging eyes of the League, or worse, the public.

"Beloved, I am not blaming you for anything." Nyssa said once Sara had calmed down. Still locked together, she led them blindly over to the bed, laying down and pulling Sara close to her.

"You went through something terrible, something that would have killed most people, it is pure instinct that you should act the way you did. Oliver and I, we both understand that. Even Slade understands that, and none of us will let anyone hurt you like that again, I promise."

Sara looked up at her weakly, her bright blue eyes still glistening with water, and Nyssa captured her lips in a soft, passionate kiss.

"You are one of the strongest people I know, to have gone through what you did, and survived it to become who you are now. There is fire in your heart and steel in your resolve, Ta-er Al Sahfer. That is why I love you."

No more words were said after that, they just lay there in each other's arms, relishing the contact until Oliver emerged from the bathroom a short while later with a towel wrapped around his waist.

"I didn't miss out on anything did I?" he smirked when he saw the two together on the bed.

Sara scoffed. "You wish."

Oliver raised his hands in mock surrender, before moving over to the walk-in wardrobe.

He stopped, however, when he passed in front of the full body mirror.

Nyssa and Sara watched on as he just stood there, frozen, staring at his reflection. Neither of them could discern the pained look in his eyes.

"What's wrong?' Sara asked after a moment.

Oliver took a deep breath. "It's been five years since I saw myself in this…"

Sara and Nyssa looked at each other, but neither said anything.

"Everything is unrecognisable. The face I see staring back at me is that of a stranger..." Oliver's voice was grainy, haunted.

He looked himself up and down, taking in every mark, every scar.

"Do you regret getting on the boat?" Sara asked as she got off the bed to stand next to him. Nyssa joined them a moment later.

Oliver was silent for a long time before he answered. "No." he said genuinely, looking between the two. "I don't think there should be any such thing as regret. What's done is done. The past is solid, the future fluid. There is only the present."

"You really need to stop paraphrasing my father." Nyssa told him with a smile, running her hands lightly along one of the scars on his back, coming to a halt on the branded triangular tattoo.

"Our scars tell a story. They hurt us, they broke us, but they also brought us together." She said reverently. "We four are one, and nothing will break us apart."

She took one of their hands in each of hers, and the three stood together, facing each other in a circle.

" _Wahid_ " Nyssa spoke.

" _Wahid_ " the other two answered, before coming together in an embrace.

"Now, I believe it is myself and Sara's turn to use the shower." Nyssa said when they separated. "I suggest you get ready for your dinner." She looked at Oliver, before she and Sara made their own way over to the bathroom.

Oliver watched them disappear around the corner, and momentarily considered joining them, but he quickly discarded the thought and instead busied himself getting dressed before heading downstairs.

…

He was looking through a selection of photographs displayed on a small table – his gaze lingering on the portrait of himself standing next to his father – when suddenly he heard a door close behind him.

"What did I tell you? Yachts suck!" Came a voice Oliver hadn't heard in a long time.

"Tommy Merlyn." He smiled as he turned around and saw his best friend standing in the doorway. Unlike the others, he looked exactly the same as he did five years ago, goofy grin and all.

"I missed you buddy." Tommy said as the two embraced warmly. "I can't believe you're really here."

Upon releasing him, Oliver fixed him with a serious look. "I only survived because of-"

"Ollie! There you are." A bright voice called, and both men turned to see Sara and Nyssa standing behind them.

"Sara Lance! As I live and breathe!" Tommy blanched. He hadn't even heard her approach. "Welcome back, to both you and _hellooo…"_

His eyes widened when he spied Nyssa, who was standing behind Sara and looking radiant in a maroon dress Thea had loaned her.

He walked over to her and put on his best ' _Hi, my name is Tommy Merlyn and I'm a billionaire'_ smile. "I'm Oliver's best friend." He said smoothly, "And you are?"

"Not interested, Mr Merlyn." Nyssa replied, deadpan, sidling past him and kissing Oliver firmly.

Oliver wasn't sure if he should laugh, or feel sorry for his friend at the way his entire being visibly deflated.

After letting the kiss drag on for longer than was probably necessary, Nyssa pulled away and looked back to Tommy. "And my name is Nyssa." She told him.

Tommy just stood there, his mouth opening and closing without any words actually coming out.

Mercifully, he was saved by Raisa, who came in from the dining room and announced that dinner was ready.

The four moved quickly, if a little awkwardly to the table, where Oliver, Sara and Nyssa sat together on one side, while Tommy sat down next to Thea down the other side, with Walter and Moira at the end.

Sara was surprised to see her father also there. "Daddy!" she gasped happily.

Quentin stood, but he didn't make his way over to her this time, something which made Sara's heart sink. Remembering her conversation with Nyssa earlier, she steeled herself and walked over to him, throwing her arms around his waist.

Quentin was unable to hide his shock. This was the Sara he had known before the Island, and a total contrast to how she had been in the hospital. He hoped that meant she was getting better, and he hugged her in return – though he was careful not to squeeze her too tightly in fear of spooking her.

"Where's Laurel?" Sara asked when they separated.

"She, ah, she got caught up with her work." He answered, "But she can't wait to see you."

Sara nodded, and they returned to their seats as Raisa brought out an extensive meal of rich meats, steamed vegetables and roasted potatoes.

Everyone dug in happily. Everyone, that is, except the three survivors.

It took more than a few minutes of them picking at their food while Tommy brought them up to speed on everything that happened before Moira realised something wasn't right.

"Oliver, are you three alright?" she asked, concerned, "You've barely touched your food."

Oliver sighed. "I'm sorry, mom." He said quietly as he looked up at her, "We've had only basic meals for the last five years."

"Oh…" Moira realised, mentally kicking herself for making such a mistake. "I'm so sorry, maybe we can-"

"Some fresh fruit would be fine, Mrs Queen." Nyssa said politely.

Moira nodded, and called for Raisa to bring some, and everyone went back to their meals.

"Ollie, what was it like there?" Thea asked suddenly, and everyone froze.

Her question had been totally innocent, but there was a nervous tension that suddenly descended around the room.

Oliver, Sara and Nyssa all exchanged glances, seeming to have a silent conversation with each other. The telepathy between them was unquestionable.

Eventually, they turned as one back to Thea.

"Cold." Oliver said.

"Painful…" Sara added.

"Lonely." Nyssa finished.

All three had an identical, haunted voice, one that carried with it a warning against asking any further questions.

Taken aback by their reaction, Thea tactfully decided to let the subject go for now.

It was at that moment that Raisa re-entered the room, carrying with her a bowl of fruit. She accidentally tripped over the carpet, and found herself flying towards the table, only to be caught by Oliver's strong grip on the bowl, and her upper arm.

"I'm so sorry, Mr Oliver-" She apologised.

"There is nothing to apologise for." He replied genuinely, and the maid nodded her thanks before placing the fruit down in front of him and exiting the room.

"Tomorrow, you and me, we're doing the city, you have a lot to catch up on." Tommy told Oliver, "Sara and Nyssa, you're welcome to come too."

"Thank you, Tommy, but Nyssa and I were going to visit my sister." Sara responded, looking at her dad. "I have a family to reconnect with too."

Quentin smiled at her words, before Moira spoke up.

"Maybe you could visit the office while you're out." She suggested.

"I don't know about that…" Oliver began.

"Well there's plenty of time." Moira continued after taking a sip of wine. "Queen Consolidated isn't going anywhere."

Oliver didn't say anything in response. His eyes were drawn to her hand holding the wineglass. More specifically: to the ring on her finger. _One identical to Walter's._

"Oliver?" Moira pressed, waiting for his answer.

"Mom, when were you going to tell me?" he asked suddenly.

Moira paused. "I'm not sure what you mean."

"When were you going to tell me you married Walter?"

His voice was completely emotionless, and under the table Sara took his hand in comfort while silence again descended upon the rest of the table.

"I didn't say anything…" Thea said awkwardly.

"She didn't have to."

Moira looked down guiltily, and bit her lip before taking Walter's hand and looking to her son.

"Oliver, firstly, can I just say that I don't want you to think that either one of us did anything to disrespect your father. We both believed that Robert, like you, was gone, and I was always going to tell you, I just didn't want to overwhelm you so soon after coming back-"

"It's fine." Oliver interrupted sharply. He looked back and forth between the two. "I'm glad you have each other."

His voice was genuine, but there was also a palpable sorrow that no one could quite identify as he slowly rose from his seat.

"May I be excused?" he asked, to which Moira nodded. He grabbed an apple from the bowl and made to leave the room.

"Hey, don't forget about tomorrow buddy." Tommy reminded him as he walked past, but Oliver said nothing in reply on his way out.

"I apologise, Mrs Queen." Sara spoke up after Oliver departed. "He told me earlier how hard it is being back. I'm not sure either of us is ready…"

"That's alright dear." Moira replied. "I don't think any of us realised how different you two would be."

Sara nodded her thanks, and Nyssa stood. "If you would excuse us, Mrs Queen, I think it best if we go with Oliver."

She and Sara exited the room, stopping only briefly to arrange a time for Quentin to pick them up the next day, before following Oliver up the stairs.

They found him tossing and turning in his bed. Initially they thought he was having another nightmare, but he hadn't been up here long enough to have fallen asleep. This was confirmed a moment later when he sat up angrily.

"This bed's too soft." He answered their unspoken question, shoulders tense with frustration. "After five years of stone and dirt and _that stupid plane_ , this is… its impossible."

He let his head drop in defeat, and both Sara and Nyssa knew that his issues extended far beyond a simple mattress.

"Then we make our own." Nyssa announced suddenly.

Oliver whipped his head around to look at her. "What?"

"You heard me." She ushered him off the bed, before grabbing the blankets and pulling them off, depositing them messily on the ground in front of the rain-lashed window. A series of small cushions followed, along with a stuffed teddy bear, much to Sara's amusement ( _"Would you rather cuddle that, or cuddle Slade?")_ until finally, the three stood in front of their creation.

"See, just like Nanda Parbat." Nyssa said cheerfully.

"Minus all the knives…" Oliver pointed out, only for Nyssa to smirk at him. "Oh don't worry, I have those too…"

Oliver let out a long suffering sigh. "I'm not even going to ask…"

"Indeed you shouldn't" Nyssa answered knowingly, before taking Oliver's and Sara's hands and pulling them down with her onto their impromptu 'bed'

Oliver was instantly more comfortable, both with the firmer ground under his back and with the two women next to him. He drew comfort from their warmth, the protection they provided each other. The reassurance.

This was what they were to each other. For all they had done, all they had been through, they were able to be vulnerable like this around each other, to rely on each other when the demons of the past came back to haunt them. They drew their strength from each other. Together, they were unstoppable. And that was a value far, far greater than anyone could ever hope to take away from them.

Sara curled herself towards him, laying her head on his chest as she so often did, while Nyssa spooned her from behind.

Outside, lighting flashed and thunder boomed, but it was an odd comfort, a reminder of familiar times, and familiar isolation.

"Sara… Nyssa…" he whispered in the dark. "I love you."

He felt, more than saw Sara smile.

"And we, you, beloved." Nyssa returned gently. "Now, sleep."

And Oliver did so.

He kissed Sara's hair softly, before settling back into an uneasy slumber.

As he slept, his mind was plagued with visions from the past, memories that had brought him to where he was now…

…

" _What are you going to do kid, stick me with the cure?" Slade roared from his position, pinned beneath the fallen railing of the sinking ship._

 _Oliver stood over him, an arrow in one hand, cure in the other. A cure for the madness that had infected his former friend._

" _It doesn't matter, I'll take away everything, and everyone you love!"_

 _Oliver winced. He had another impossible choice to make. Kill, or cure. The choice should have been obvious, but the deranged_ rage _in the Australian's voice was quickly making him think otherwise._

What if it didn't work? Or what if it did, but Slade still killed his family as he threatened. _He had already lost Sara, thrown out to sea by the madman. He thought of his mother, Thea, Laurel. He'd already lost so much. He couldn't bear to lose them too._

" _Sara was only the first!" Slade shouted at him. "She was only the first! Your sister! Laurel! Your Mother!"_

 _Oliver couldn't take any more._

 _His hand tightened around the arrow, and he plunged it towards Slade's eye_

" _Ollie!" a small voice came from nowhere._

 _Oliver froze, the arrow stopping mere inches from Slade's right eye._

 _He knew that voice. It was shrill and weak, terrified beyond belief, but he would recognise it anywhere._

 _He turned his head to the side, and his mouth dropped open in shock when he saw her._

 _Sara's head poked around the side of the hole Anatoli had blown in the hull, her hands clinging onto the metal for dear life._

 _Her fingers were bloody, torn to shreds from gripping onto the ragged metal, her face bruised from the beatings Slade and his men had given her. She was white as a sheet and soaked to her core._

But she was alive!

 _She was alive and that was all that mattered._

Slade hadn't killed her!

 _And that realisation brought with it a more simple one._

 _Standing over the Australian, Oliver bent low, so he was face to face with the man. "You're not going to kill anyone." He growled, in a voice cold as ice, before driving his hand into Slade's chest._

 _Slade gasped in pain as Oliver stepped back, revealing the syringe buried in his flesh._

The now empty cure syringe!

 _Breathing heavily, Oliver could only watch as Slade began to groan and convulse as the cure flooded his veins, purging the Mirakuru from his system. He thrashed around, desperate to escape, but it was to no avail, and after thirty seconds or so, he fell limp._

 _Cautiously, Oliver leant forwards once more and placed his fingers on Slade's neck, searching for a pulse. To his relief, he found one, but that brought with it a whole host of new questions._

 _Oliver was distracted from his thoughts by a pained squeak from Sara, and he instantly got back to his feet and raced over to her. He pulled her back inside the ship, and she instantly threw her arms around him, sobbing into his chest in pure relief._

" _You're okay." He whispered, stroking her saturated hair, "We're both okay."_

 _She never got to reply, for it was at that moment that the ship's fuel tanks ruptured, rocking the hull with a second, monstrous explosion. This one though was more powerful. The hull cracked instantly and the_ Amazo, _like a demonic_ Titanic _split in half and began to sink into the depths of the sea._

 _Sara instantly grabbed a handhold to stop herself sliding down the floor of the boat as the world around her tilted wildly, but Oliver wasn't so lucky. He was struck on the head by a piece of flying debris and he dropped, out cold, into the water._

 _What happened next was a blur._

 _All he got was flashes, images._

 _The roar of flames…_

 _Seawater, cold and salty engulfing his body…_

 _A strong grip, grabbing him and pulling him through the water…_

 _Gritty sand beneath his body and glorious sunlight on his face…_

 _And through it all, a single, gruff sentence:_

" _I got you, Kid."_

 **I know this was another slow one, but the action's coming soon, I promise.**

 **It needs to be said that in my story, virtually none of the characters are exactly like they are in the show. Some are stronger, some are darker, some are more damaged. Tommy is still a scoundrel and Slade… Slade will be Slade… (rest assured, he makes his first proper appearance in the next chapter)**

 **I personally like the idea of Nyssa being the glue that keeps them all together. She's the most experienced Assassin, and in my story at least, the most skilled. She's got a calm head on her shoulders while Oliver and Sara are more emotional, and I tried to capture some of that along with the bond the three share.**

 **Hope you enjoyed this one, stay tuned for more.**


	4. requiem

The door creaked open in the early hours of the morning and the cautious eye of Moira Queen peeked inside. After Oliver's… unusual behaviour the night before, she'd been very concerned about him – about all of them really - and merely wanted to check if everything was okay.

She froze however at the sight in front of her.

Oliver and Sara slept soundly by the windowside. The fact that they had pulled their bedding onto the ground barely registered as Moira stared at the three of them. Sara was curled up on top of Oliver, her head right over where his heart was.

They had an identical look of contentment on their faces. It was happy, peaceful, enough to warm even Moira's heart, and she smiled at the sight.

Her smile faded however when she spied Nyssa on the other side of them, pressed tightly against the two. She frowned at the notion that all three were so intimate with each other. It was not something she was sure she was willing to tolerate, least of all with someone she knew so little about.

She had allowed Nyssa to stay with them on the basis of protecting her son's mentality, but it was looking increasingly like the woman was here to stay, and that wasn't something Moira could have. Not without finding some answers first.

After snapping a photo on her phone for memories' sake (and to show Thea, who would no doubt get a real kick out of teasing her brother about it later) she silently closed the door and left the trio to their slumber.

…

All three woke early, not long after the first rays of dawn began to filter in through the window. Ideally they would have liked to have slept for longer, as they were all mentally exhausted after what had been a trying series of days, but some training habits were hard to shake.

While Oliver elected to re-make the bed and look through his old room more carefully, the two women got dressed and made their way downstairs.

"Good morning." Moira called from her chair in the living room, her face buried in the morning news. Walter had already left for work. "Did you sleep well?"

"Yes, thank you." Sara said in reply. "Sorry again, about last night…"

"Its fine dear, I understand that you three are still coming to terms with everything. Raisa has prepared some oats and fruit for you, if you like."

"Thank you, Mrs Queen." Sara said. "But Nyssa and I were actually going to spend the day in the city, she wants to see all the sights, and I-" she paused as she took a deep breath, "I want to see my sister."

Moira didn't miss the nervousness in her voice, and she dropped the paper and smiled warmly. "I'm sure she'll be thrilled, Sara." She said genuinely. "I'll call the driver, have him take you into town."

Sara and Nyssa nodded their thanks and quietly exited the house.

As the doors closed behind them, neither saw Moira pull her phone out and dial an unknown number.

"Hello, Mr Wolfman, I have a task for you. I would like you to find out everything you can about Nyssa Raatko." She paused. "And while you're at it, tell your team that my son will be in the city today. It's time we got some answers."

…

Oliver was walking through the upstairs corridor, on his way down to meet Tommy when he passed by Thea's room and suddenly stopped in his tracks.

Inside he could hear muffled whimpers, as if his sister was crying.

Instantly concerned, he knocked on her door. "Thea?" he asked warily.

The noises stopped immediately. "One second, Ollie." His sister called from inside.

Oliver frowned when he heard the sound of a draw opening and closing hurriedly along with a faint clang of metal, and he pushed the door open himself.

"Ollie!" Thea span around, and Oliver stopped at the sight of her. Her makeup was smudged, her mascara running from tears which were still slowly leaking from her eyes. Her clothes were messy, long sleeves creased all the way up her arms.

"Thea, are you okay?" he began making his way over to her.

"Yeah… yeah I'm fine." She said hurriedly, wiping the water from her eyes. "I just… still can't really believe you're back." She sniffed quietly. "I feel like any moment I'll wake up and… and this will all have been a dream…"

Oliver felt his heart break in two, and he instantly wrapped her up in a hug. Holding her close, he could feel her slim shoulders shuddering. Unusually for her, she didn't return the hug as tightly, as if she was afraid of holding him or something.

"Oh Thea…" he murmured in her ear. "I'm not going anywhere."

"You promise?" she asked in a weak voice.

Oliver sighed, remembering his discussion with Nyssa the previous day. He knew he would break her heart when he did indeed leave her, but everything he did, _everything_ , he was doing it for her.

"I promise." He kissed her cheek.

"I have something for you." He told her when they separated, pulling a triangular object from the back pocket of his pants.

He held it up in front of her and Thea admired it curiously. "It's a Hozen." He explained. "In Buddhism it symbolises reconnecting. I kept it from the Island, in hopes that it would one day reconnect me with you."

Thea took it gratefully, before the corner of her mouth twisted into a smirk. "I didn't think you knew what Buddhism is." She said cheekily.

Oliver gave her a guilty shrug. "Nyssa might have explained it to me…"

She smiled lovingly at him, genuinely, and he felt his heart warm. "Thank you." She said.

"Hey, where's my rock?" Tommy joked from the doorway. "You could have at least got me one of those shirts that say 'my friend was a castaway and all I got was this crappy shirt' or something."

Oliver turned around. "My sincerest apologies. They didn't have any sizes in 'sleazebag'"

Tommy clutched his chest. "That hurts, you know that…"

Thea shook her head at his antics. "Don't let him get you into too much trouble." She told Oliver.

Tommy gasped theatrically. "I would never! Why would you accuse-"

"Go!" Thea ordered in exasperation, pushing the two out of her room before the situation got out of hand. She was still shaking her head when the door closed.

Her smile faded when she saw the top draw of her desk sitting slightly ajar, saw the metal glinting cruelly up at her…

…

"How come Thea isn't dressed for school?" Oliver asked as he and Tommy left the house. "She wouldn't have graduated yet…"

Tommy stopped and bit his lip. "Thea's been home schooled for the past three years." He said quietly. "Moira took her out because… well, let's just say there were some issues…"

"What issues?" Oliver demanded.

"Whoa, ease up." Tommy recoiled, "It's nothing serious, it's not like she was doing drugs or anything. She just… didn't get on well with the other kids."

Oliver frowned, and looked back up at the house, towards Thea's bedroom window as an abject sadness settled over him.

"Seriously, it's fine." Tommy clapped him on the back. "I'm not complaining. I mean, have you seen how hot she's gotten-"

He was cut off suddenly and abruptly when Oliver span around with the speed of a viper, fisting his hands in Tommy's suit and pulling his friends face to within inches of his own.

" _What."_ He growled in a voice cold as ice.

Tommy's eyes shot open, and he leaned back fearfully. "Dude, relax… I was only joking."

Oliver held his glare for a moment, before he came to his senses and quickly released him. "Yeah so am I." he grinned, covering his slip up.

Tommy's shocked look didn't go away. "Well you had me fooled…"

"Like I would ever hurt you." He laughed as he opened the passenger door to Tommy's Mercedes. Regaining his composure, Tommy quickly joined him. The car's engine roared when he keyed the ignition.

"But seriously…" Oliver said as he put his seatbelt on. "My sister is off limits."

Tommy looked at him nervously as they pulled out of the driveway. "Noted…"

…

"Are you sure you're ready for this?" Nyssa asked as she and Sara walked through downtown Starling City.

They'd shared a wonderful morning, exploring various department stores and coffee shops as well as a quick walk through the central business district (all a cover, of course, for scoping out sightlines, entries and exits and what not) but now Sara couldn't put it off any longer.

She stopped as she laid eyes on the building in front of her. "No… but I have to at least try… I owe her that much." She said.

"I will stay with you, if you want." Nyssa offered.

"Thank you." Sara answered, grabbing her hand before taking a deep breath, and the two of them walked into the building, home to the City Necessary Resources Initiative.

CNRI for short.

Navigating their way through was easy enough, they only had a few flights of stairs to ascend but even so, Nyssa could _feel_ the tension in Sara's posture grow with each step. She knew the blonde didn't want to be here, yet she squared her shoulders and continued admirably until they arrived at the right doorway.

Pausing a final time and taking a deep breath to settle her nerves, Sara strode through the door and immediately spotted on the one person she'd been dreading seeing again more than any other.

…

"Hunt has an army of lawyers and they're ready to bury us!"

"You and I against an army, I like those odds." Laurel Lance said as she scanned through the paperwork for their upcoming lawsuit.

Her friend Johanna's reply fell on deaf ears however when Laurel heard her name called by another of her colleagues. She looked up, saw who it was, and her mouth dropped open in shock.

"Sara!"

Sara stood just inside the doorway, laying eyes on her sister for the first time in five years. Up until this point she'd been able to handle the idea of seeing Laurel again, if only barely, but now as Laurel began moving towards her, her feet were frozen to the ground.

She was unable to move a muscle as Laurel raced over. The look on the brunette's face was totally unreadable. Sara winced. _She had to hate her… she_ had _to…_

She was shocked then, when Laurel threw her arms around her neck and pulled her close. "You're alive…" she sobbed "you're alive…"

Too stunned to say anything in reply, Sara meekly returned the hug. She couldn't quite believe Laurel had reacted in such a way, after everything she had done to her older sister. She didn't think she _deserved_ to be greeted so lovingly, like nothing had ever happened.

For a long, long time the two sisters held each other close, reconnecting after years spent think they'd lost each other. It brought a smile to even Nyssa's face.

"I'm so sorry I haven't been able to see you yet." Laurel said rapidly when she regained her composure. "I've seen all the news reports, but I've been so caught up here with this case that-"

"Laurel, it's okay." Sara finally found her voice as she pulled away and looked into her sister's eyes. She'd changed so much. The wide eyes and curly hair had been replaced with sharp, laser focus. Intelligence glistened behind her brown eyes. She had chosen a good career path.

Everything about her was still inherently _Laurel_ though, and that simple fact brought Sara more relief than any other.

"Dad said you were busy, I just wanted- needed to come say hi, and to apologise, for-"

"You have nothing to apologise, Sara. It was all Oliver's fault." She said sharply, before schooling the sneer that briefly crossed her features. "It just so happens that I'm overdue my lunchbreak. What do you say we grab something to eat and we can bring each other up to speed on everything, plus you can introduce me to your friend here, you must be Nyssa." She finished, noticing the other woman for the first time.

"I am." Nyssa confirmed reservedly.

Laurel smiled brightly at her and introduced herself as Sara's older sister, saying she was glad the two had each other on the Island. It was not lost on either of the two assassins that she didn't even mention Oliver, and the two shared an uneasy glance as they followed Laurel out of the building.

"I hope Ollie wasn't planning on stopping by…" Sara said to Nyssa, out of earshot. "If he does… he's going to get a hell of a shock…"

…

Electricity. Raw, pulsing electricity flooded Oliver's body, pulling him from his unconsciousness with a sharp and sudden jolt.

Gasping for air, Oliver immediately took in his surroundings. Despite the lingering effects of the drug in his system, his eyes were hard and sharp. Focussed.

He was in an abandoned warehouse, the same one he and Tommy had left their car in while they'd gone and grabbed some lunch. One their way downtown, he'd made Tommy drive past the abandoned Queen steel factory. Tommy was curious as to why, but through his questions, he never noticed Oliver staring intently at a hole in the wall.

Never noticed the dark eyes staring back.

Another dose of electricity brought Oliver back from his thoughts, and he grunted in pain, even through his league training.

"Mr Queen! I ask the questions, you give me the answers!" a rough, ragged voice demanded.

Oliver snapped his eyes up to focus on the man. There were three of them. Instantly, he looked them up and down, evaluating their strengths and weaknesses.

 _Civilian clothes… no distinctive HIVE markings… no danger there._

 _Masks to conceal their identity… no danger there either._

 _AK-47 rifles… lots of danger there…_

"Did your father make it to the island? Did he tell you anything?" the man with the Taser questioned.

Oliver said nothing, he was working on the ropes binding his hands to the chair. Behind the men, he saw Tommy out cold.

"I said, DID HE TELL YOU ANYTHING!" The man yelled, jamming him with the Taser a third time. Oliver felt his muscles convulse from the electricity. He allowed himself to let out a pained cry. _He needed them to think he was weak…_ Unseen by them, his hands continued to work. He just had to get his thumbs in the right position…

His interrogators had clearly lost their patience. "Might as well look for the other two." One of them growled. "Maybe they'll talk. Or maybe he'll be more likely to answer over their dead bodies..."

Unknown to them, they'd just made a terrible, _terrible_ mistake.

No matter how unskilled they were, no matter how superior the other two in question were, they'd just threatened two members of Oliver's family. _That did it!_

Now he was pissed off.

"Wait!" he yelled roughly, and the men all turned to look at him. One of them had the audacity (stupidity?) to chuckle in victory.

"My father told me one thing."

"What was that?"

Oliver glared up at them. "He told me I'm going to kill you…"

This made all the men break out in laughter, and this would be their final mistake.

Taking advantage of their distraction, Oliver broke free of his bindings. In an instant, he was back on his feet and before any of the men could do anything, he _slammed_ the chair into one's back.

The chair shattered instantly and the man dropped to the floor. Oliver wasted no time in plucking his taser out of thin air and throwing it with pinpoint accuracy into the throat of another.

While the electric shock wasn't active, it didn't matter as the sheer speed of the heavy unit crushed the unfortunate man's windpipe and he collapsed to his knees, clutching his throat and wheezing desperately.

By now the third man had come to his senses. He brought his rifle up and without even bothering to take aim, jammed down on the trigger.

Bullets sprayed everywhere and Oliver quickly leapt behind the suffocating man, supporting him with his own body as his unfortunate shield jolted rapidly, his body exploding in bullet holes like a can of tomato soup, sending fountains of blood spraying everywhere.

Oliver waited for the man's rifle to run dry, and the moment he heard the tell-tale click he was back on his feet.

He threw the man he was hiding behind – now deader than dead – at the gunman, knocking him off balance before charging at him

The man could do nothing as Oliver leapt at him, twisting his body around his opponent's in a brutally effective manoeuvre that ended with his arm around the throat of his attacker.

"Wait.. please…" the man begged, as they all did.

"No mercy for you." Oliver growled before coldly, cruelly snapping his neck.

He let the body drop to the ground and made to go over and check if Tommy was still okay, when he heard the click of a chambered round behind him.

Freezing, he turned around and saw the final man – the one he'd hit with the chair – now back on his feet, with his rifle aimed directly at Oliver's heart.

"You're dead." The man said hatefully, but curiously, Oliver gave no outward reaction. He just stood there, glaring at him, as if challenging him-

Then, in the blink of an eye, three things happened at once.

First, Oliver ducked, seemingly in an attempt to avoid being shot. Second the man made to jam down on his trigger and eviscerate Oliver. Finally, before he could get a round off, he jolted violently.

Pain suddenly laced through his chest. He looked down and his eyes widened in horror.

Sticking out of his ribcage, directly piercing his heart, was the hilt of a samurai sword.

The end of it was still quivering from where it had been thrown, with deadly accuracy from _behind_ Oliver!

Too late, he realised as he fell, his life fading fast, that Oliver had not ducked to avoid being shot. _He'd ducked to avoid the sword._

The last thing he would ever see was a man emerging from the shadows. A man in a black and orange facemask.

Oliver stood emotionlessly over the bodies of the kidnappers. "Why don't you leave it to the last second next time?" he growled, his voice now noticeably lower and harsher.

"Why don't you stop getting yourself into situations like these?" Slade answered gruffly as he came up alongside him. "It's not like we _planned_ on you getting kidnapped is it? Honestly kid… three years training under that asshole and you can't even catch a bloody tranq dart…"

"Shut up…" Oliver jabbed before suddenly stilling, serious. "You know this means we're going to have to move up our plans, right? Whoever they worked for, they wanted to know if my father told me anything..."

"Which means they might know about the list." Slade finished, connecting the dots. "Shame you had to show off… it'd have been better to leave one alive and follow him back to his employer."

Oliver let out an angered growl. "It doesn't matter now… Call Nyssa and Sara, tell them we start tonight."

"Oh no kid…" Slade said as he began walking away. His unusually cheerful voice made Oliver feel very nervous all of a sudden.

" _You_ can call the other two, and explain to them how _you_ got kidnapped." The Australian said gleefully as he vanished once more into the shadows.

Oliver groaned. "I hate you…"

 **Oh Slade… Don't ever change…**

 **I know this was a short chapter, shorter than I actually planned it to be, but I intend on keeping it that way for the time being. This is still very much a learning curve for me, and I'm trying to strike a balance between moving the story forward and setting everything up.**

 **I'll try and get the first episode at least finished within the week, because after that I'll be away for a month and won't be able to upload any new chapters in that time.**

 **Please let me know what you think, any feedback is much appreciated. You guys seem to enjoying the story so far, so I'm hoping I can keep the quality up while still establishing everything in the way I want to.**

 **Stay tuned for more coming soon**


	5. genesis

**Well, here's the next chapter.**

 **I know I said I wouldn't be updating for a while due to being away, which was true, I was meant to be travelling overseas for a month. Instead, I managed to break my ankle the day before my trip and consequently had to cancel, so here we are. My pain is your gain I guess…**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

"How often do you come here?" Sara asked as the waitress brought their meal out to them – an enormous plate of fries, complete with strawberry milkshakes on the side.

"Not too often." Laurel replied casually as she dipped a fry into her milkshake. "Only on special occasions, and this _definitely_ qualifies."

"I was going to say…" Sara drawled as she glanced at the Big Belly Burger logo on the window, "Anyone who came here too often would get pretty big, pretty fast…"

"Oh it's not so bad…" Laurel replied nonchalantly as she chewed, only to pause when she saw the wide eyes of Nyssa staring back at her. The woman looked positively aghast.

"Um… did I say something wrong?" Laurel asked Sara.

Sara said nothing in reply, she was too busy watching the comical sight of Nyssa flicking her eyes between Laurel, the fries and the milkshake. She opened her mouth, but no words came out.

"Is that… is that a thing you do over here?" she got out eventually.

It took Laurel a moment to figure out what she was talking about. "Oh! You mean you've never had milkshake fries before?"

Nyssa mutely shook her head.

"They're great! Here, try one." She offered a dipped fry.

"No, I'm alright thank you." Nyssa recoiled, but Laurel insisted. She sent a pleading look to Sara, but the traitorous blonde just laughed and sent her a look back that said 'good luck escaping this one, Heir to the Demon'.

"You Americans are strange…" Nyssa muttered, finally caving and taking the fry. She chewed a couple of times before her eyes widened. "But it is surprisingly not bad…"

"I told you they were good." Laurel laughed. "Where are you from originally anyway?"

The question caught Nyssa off guard. "Oh... um…"

"She travelled around a lot." Sara jumped in, finally caving and rescuing her fellow assassin.

"I see…" Laurel said. "Is that how you ended up on the Island?"

"It is." Nyssa nodded, noticing how Sara stiffened beside her at the mention of their purgatory.

An uncomfortable silence fell upon the table.

Sara bit her lip. While her reunion with her sister had been amazing, far better than she could have possibly imagined, there was still something she wanted – no, _needed_ to say.

"Listen, Laurel…" she began hesitantly, looking down at the table. "I know you said I have nothing to apologise for, but-"

"I meant it, Sara, you don't." Laurel cut in.

"Please!" Sara hissed through clenched teeth pleadingly, almost desperately. "I need to say this, and its better you hear it from me now than later."

Laurel stilled, and was silent for a moment before nodding. "Okay."

Sara took a deep breath. "I'm sorry, okay… so… incredibly sorry for going behind your back with Oliver. It was wrong, and I can't imagine the pain the both of us must have caused you, but-"

"You're right." Laurel said sharply, neither willing nor ready to have this conversation. "You did, but you're back now and that's all that matters."

"I wasn't finished." Sara's icy toned silenced the elder Lance once again. "Listen, I know how you must feel about he and I, and I'm not asking for your forgiveness… but… we're still together."

Laurel felt a bolt of ice shoot through her heart at her sister's words. She knew they'd spent five years in each other's company but she hadn't been expecting that at all.

"We're all we had for five years, Laurel. Some of the things we went through…" Sara continued.

"I know." Laurel said stiffly. "Dad told me about your scars."

Sara looked down guiltily. "Look… all I ask is for you to not blame us for what we've become."

"Sara I could never blame you." Laurel said darkly, all her buried anger at the pair of them – Oliver in particular – suddenly rising to the surface. "You're my sister, I love you. But Oliver… this is all his fault. None of this would have happened if it weren't for _him."_ She spat.

"All you did was fall under his lecherous spell… just like I did… because that's what he does. He's a selfish, arrogant, chauvinistic _bastard_ who deserved to rot in hell for a whole lot longer than five years-"

" _Don't_ say a _word_ against Oliver."

Laurel was silenced instantly by the ice cold growl of her sister. She locked eyes with the blonde, ready to argue but was instead taken aback by the frozen flames burning alight in Sara's blue eyes.

Laurel had never seen such an expression on Sara's face, such absolute concrete _coldness._ It sent shivers down her spine. In the blink of an eye she had gone from talking to a familiar face to one of a complete stranger. She'd be lying if she said she didn't feel a little afraid.

"Oliver saved my life." Sara continued slowly. Dangerously. "More times than I can remember, Nyssa's too. I know he hurt you, I know what he did was wrong, but hate him for who he was, not who he's become."

Any response Laurel had was drowned out by the ringing of Sara's phone.

The blonde's expression didn't waver, before suddenly she looked away and answered, leaving Laurel shell-shocked.

"A word of advice if I may, Miss Lance." Nyssa spoke up quietly, and the brunette flicked her eyes to meet hers

"People change." She said simply. "Character is shaped by circumstance. People change in the face of hardship, some grow, others wither. Some become new people entirely. Don't be so eager to judge a person who has endured _five years_ of circumstance. You may find they are no longer who you think they are."

Laurel said nothing as Sara hung up the phone and turned back to face the two, a worried look adorning her features.

"Is everything alright?" Nyssa asked

Sara shook her head. "It's Ollie… he was kidnapped."

…

"So, let's go through this again: You and Merlyn were drugged and kidnapped by three armed men, who were all subsequently taken out by a man with a sword, and a guy in a green hood with a bow and arrow?" the gruff voice of Detective Lance questioned.

"Actually, it was just Oliver." Tommy said quickly. "I was pretty much out of it the whole time."

"Wouldn't be the first time…" Lance muttered under his breath. "Oliver?"

Oliver nodded. "That's exactly what happened."

"Right…" Lance turned to look at his partner, Detective Lucas Hilton. The officers stared at each other for a long, long time. They were both thinking the same thing. They both knew what this meant.

"Detectives… who were they?" Tommy asked in a slightly shaky voice.

Lance looked back down at his notes. He licked his lips. "You wouldn't know this, Queen, but for the past month we've been receiving reports of these Vigilantes…"

"Vigilantes?" Oliver furrowed his eyebrows.

"Four of them." Lance confirmed gravely, "Two of which are described exactly as you did, plus another two – women, with the same weapons."

"You mean like Robin Hood and his Merry Men?"

"I mean killers. Highly trained, highly skilled individuals the likes of which we've never seen before. They kill and vanish like ghosts. No one knows who they are, where they came from, or what they want. Until today they targeted black market criminals: Drug dealers, arms runners, that sort of thing. So my question is: why would they rescue you two?"

Oliver didn't flinch under the man's searching stare. "Maybe it was the kidnappers they were after…"

"Yeah, well…" Lance didn't look convinced. "How did they know where they would be?"

"I don't know." Oliver shrugged. "Find them and you can ask."

"Were you able to identify the kidnappers?" Walter spoke up from beside Moira.

"No, sorry." Hilton said. "Scrubbed identities, untraceable weapons. These guys were pros."

"Probably figured you'd pay a King's ransom to get your boy back, or a Queen's ransom as it were…" Lance said. "After all, a parent would do anything to keep their child safe…"

Oliver held the detective's glare. Up until now the man had… tolerated him, but now, without Sara's presence, her father was making no attempts to disguise his hatred.

"Ollie!" Sara's voice suddenly cried from the doorway as she and Nyssa arrived, perfectly playing the part of the concerned friends.

Oliver was immediately on his feet, making his way over to them and the three embraced tightly. Both Moira and Lance flinched at the sight.

"I'm ok." Oliver reassured them. "These vigilante guys rescued us."

Nyssa raised an eyebrow. " _Vigilante guys?"_

Oliver offered a simple shrug.

"As long as you two are alright." Sara said, "Not even a day back and you manage to get yourself into trouble…"

"That's exactly what I said." Thea mumbled sarcastically from the side.

"Did you need anything else, detectives?" Oliver asked, moving back to the couch as Nyssa and Sara sat down on either side of him.

Lance evaluated him for a moment, before reaching for his notes – which included an artist's impression of the man in the green hood, along with previous sketches of the four vigilantes. "No, we've got everything." He said curtly.

"Thank you, gentlemen." Walter stood and shook hands with the detectives. "If Oliver can think of anything else, we'll be in touch."

Lance gave the CEO a simple nod as he made his way past before stopping in front of Oliver. "Your luck never seems to run out, does it?"

"Dad…" Sara warned in a low voice. Oliver said nothing.

"I'm just saying…" Lance explained somewhat sourly, turning to his daughter. "If you'd been studying these guys for the last three weeks like I have, you'd know they don't rescue people. They murder them. I'd say Queen here is lucky he didn't join that list."

He missed how Sara winced slightly, while Oliver and Nyssa's eyes hardened. "Anyways… I'll be seeing you at home for dinner at six, yes?"

"Actually daddy I'm going to stay here with Ollie, make sure he's okay."

It took Quentin everything he had to hold back his scowl. "But Sara-"

"Dad."

"Sara…"

" _Dad."_

Quentin sighed. "Fine…" he conceded, pulling her into a hug. She only stiffened slightly. "I love you." He whispered, kissing the top of her head.

"Love you too daddy." Sara replied.

The three watched as the detectives left the house, shortly followed by Tommy, before Oliver quickly steered the two women in the direction of the stairs.

"I told Slade we'd meet him in the foundry at sundown." He told them lowly. Both gave nothing but a silent nod of understanding.

"Oliver, where are you going in such a rush?" Moira called from the living room.

Oliver stopped in his tracks. He sighed in frustration before turning back around. "I'm just going upstairs to lie down for a bit, get over this whole thing before I head out tonight."

Moira cocked her head. "Excuse me?"

"Sara and Nyssa want to see what the night life is like, so I figured I'd show them around…"

"Oliver Jonas Queen you will not be going anywhere!" Moira said sternly, rising to her feet. "You were _kidnapped_ today!"

"I'm very well aware of that fact mom…" Oliver said tightly.

Moira was unmoved. "No, I don't think you are." She walked over, stopping when she was face to face with him. "Five years… five years I thought I'd lost you, and the day after I get you back, I almost lose you again."

The anger had left her voice, replaced with watery eyes and a concerned hand upon her son's cheek. "Please Oliver, don't make me go through that again, let alone Thea. I'm not asking for much, just that you stay here until the police know more about what happened today."

Oliver closed his eyes and sighed. "Fine…"

"Thank you." Moira said tersely, moving away slightly. "Oh, and one more thing, starting from tomorrow I'm going to hire a bodyguard to accompany you wherever you go, in case something like this happens again."

Oliver opened his mouth but Moira gave him to room to protest. "There will be no arguments over this Oliver!"

"Actually I agree with you." Oliver interrupted her, taking her completely by surprise.

"You do?"

"You do?" Sara echoed, while Nyssa glared at him. This wasn't part of the plan. A glorified babysitter would only compromise their mission – and their anonymity.

"I do." Oliver repeated, before gesturing to Nyssa. "It just so happens that Nyssa's father owns a global bodyguard company. I'm sure he'd be more than happy to send someone to protect us."

"Is that so?" Moira didn't sound convinced. "Nyssa is this true?"

"Indeed it is." Nyssa confirmed, quickly regaining her composure, having seen where Oliver was going with this. "He is very proud of his company. His employees are the best at their jobs in the world he says."

"And what is your father's name, may I ask?"

Nyssa sent her a wry smirk, having seen right through her attempt to garner information. Unbeknown to Moira, her father had more contingency plans in place for this mission than she herself did.

"Ducard." She said coolly. "Henri Ducard."

Moira frowned. "Different surnames?"

"My mother died in childbirth." Nyssa didn't miss a beat. "He thought it best to honour her by allowing me to continue her name."

"I see, I'm very sorry for your loss then." Moira said respectfully. "I will look into this company of your father's, in the meantime, I will be hiring someone I trust to oversee your safety."

Oliver looked like he wanted to protest, but clearly though better of it. "Okay, thank you." He bowed his head briefly, more out of habit than anything else, before bidding his goodbyes as he headed to his room.

"I take it this means we are still going out tonight?" Nyssa asked from beside him.

Oliver grinned at her. "You know me too well…"

…

Later that night, after everyone else had gone to bed, Moira Queen stayed awake.

After checking one last time that Oliver – along with his two accomplices – were indeed asleep in their room, she dialled the same number she had in the morning.

" _The police failed to identify the men I sent to kidnap Oliver, and they never will."_ A gravelly voice answered when she queried what had gone wrong with the abduction. " _Would you like me to arrange another abduction?"_

Moira bit her lip, deep in thought. "No, there are other ways of finding out what my son knows." She said. "What of your investigation into the Raatko woman?"

" _Nothing so far."_ The man replied, " _Checked phone records, bank accounts, lease agreements, all came up empty. She had a passport with several dozen countries logged on it, but aside from that, the woman's a ghost."_

"Interesting…" Moira thought out loud. "Keep searching, let me know if you find anything else. And while you're at it, investigate any connections she has with a Henri Ducard."

" _Will do ma'am._ " The man said, " _Should we be worried about thess vigilantes that foiled the attempt?"_

Again, Moira was silent for a long time. "For now, no, it was likely just a coincidence. But if they start causing trouble in the future, our _associate_ will handle them."

" _Very well."_ The man said before hanging up.

Moira put her phone down and stared out the window for a moment, before getting to her feet and walking upstairs to check on Oliver one last time.

To her shock, when she opened the doors this time, the room was completely empty, save for the flight fluttering of the curtains in the breeze let in by the open window.

…

"'We start tonight', he said. 'We'll be there at sundown' he said." Slade grumbled when Oliver, Sara and Nyssa finally appeared in the lower level of the abandoned Queen steel foundry, two hours after they said they would.

"Shut up, we're here aren't we?" Oliver shot back.

"I missed you too Slade." Sara said sarcastically.

"Sorry we're late. We had issues getting away unnoticed." Nyssa explained.

No further word was said between them as the four met each other in the centre of the room and embraced for the first time in a week. It might not have been a very long time, but for them, it was the longest they'd been separated in over a year.

They stood in a tight circle, arms thrown around each other and heads together in the middle for a full minute.

"I missed you three." Slade murmured in a rare moment of affection.

"Missed you too." Sara nudged his side playfully when they broke apart. "Though I'm not so sure about Ollie…" she added as she moved to the side and began stripping out of her clothing in preparation for the night ahead.

"Is that right?" Slade said slowly as he turned to face Oliver, who had suddenly adopted a 'deer in the headlights' look

"I don't know what she's talking about…" the billionaire said.

"…I believe… your exact words were… 'this Island is actually enjoyable without a grumpy old man kicking my ass every day'… or something…" Nyssa spoke up, though she sounded distinctly… distracted.

"Nyssa." Oliver said, doing his best to avoid Slade's death stare.

"Yes?"

"Eyes over here."

Nyssa let out the faintest grunt of frustration as she tore her eyes away from Sara's bare legs. Oliver smirked knowingly at her reddening face. "We do have work to do."

He laid his crate (which he had taken with him from the mansion) on the centre table. All around them was the equipment they had been busy setting up for the past month.

Knives, swords and arrows lined practically every wall in the room, glinting menacingly in the dark, dim lighting. The steel and concrete foundations had been repurposed into training facilities, with dummies, targets and sparring mats, even a salmon ladder.

In front of those were three metal desks, arranged in a horse shoe shape.

State of the art supercomputers adorned one of the desks, along with countless files – both the League's, and others that had been… procured… from various other agencies – and a small, weatherbeaten book.

Desk two was taken up by industrial grade smelting hardware, for the construction of arrows and armour as well as the sharpening of blades, while underneath desk three was an assortment of medical equipment, in case of emergencies.

All in all, it was formidable lair. The lair of a killer, some might say. _The lair of an assassin,_ they would say.

On top of the third desk lay individual crates containing the four's gear, and it was on this desk that Oliver placed his crate. He pulled from it the ornate recurve bow he had on the island – the weapon that had been by his side for _years._

He stared at it for a moment.

"I sometimes wonder if he loves that weapon more than he loves us…" Sara whispered to Slade, who leant down and whispered back: "I don't like to think what goes on in those 'private' target practise sessions he does… I'd avoid touching that bow if I were you."

Nyssa came up alongside Oliver, and kissed him lightly on his cheek. "Are you ready to begin our fathers' missions in earnest?"

"Absolutely." Oliver growled. His eyes hardened as he pulled from the bottom of the crate a familiar green hood, before fixing his eyes on the open book in front of him, on one name in particular.

"And I know just where to start…"

…

"You remind Grell that I put him on the bench, I can take him off. I will turn him into a cautionary tale! And this attorney, Laurel Lance, you said she wouldn't be a problem anymore, I told you to fix that situation!"

Safe to say, Adam Hunt was angry. Very angry.

In just a few short weeks, all the money he had made by illegally snapping up the loose stock from Queen Consolidated's near collapse five years previously had been exposed by a low level attorney who was intent on burning his world to ashes.

He had gone from a self-made millionaire, sitting pretty in his luxury high rise apartment, surrounded by fancy cars, foot rubs and day spas, to staring down the barrel of a trial for fraud and theft – a trial he knew he didn't deserve. He was a mere accomplice, a subservient to a man with plans far larger than his own.

It had been a long day of meetings, threats and organising his affairs, and all he wanted to do was go home, put his feet up and enjoy a well earned glass of whiskey.

Little did he know that his night was about to get a whole lot worse.

After dismissing his secretary, he began making his way over to his Mercedes when suddenly sparks flared from above him, and the entire carpark was plunged into darkness.

Taken by surprise, he turned and looked up at the blown fuse box, and his eyes widened. There was something sticking out of it. It looked almost like a-

The bodyguard next to him suddenly jolted, and Hunt turned onto to reel back his horror when he saw the knife lodged in the man's throat. It was unlike anything he'd ever seen. With five swept back, wickedly sharp tips, it had opened the unfortunate bodyguards throat up to the world, out of which poured a grizzly fountain of blood.

 _Jesus…_

"Get in the car!" his remaining bodyguard urged.

Hunt didn't need to be told twice, he raced for the safety of his car. Scrambling for the keys, he dived inside just as his guard loosed a hailstorm of bullets from his MP5 submachine gun.

Instinctively, Hunt ducked, before a voice rang out that would forever chill him to his very core.

" _Hey… you missed."_

All Hunt heard after that was a faint _ching_ followed by a two separate, dull 'thuds'. In the rear view mirror, Hunt saw an explosion of blood.

He began hyperventilating. _He was safe in here… right?_

Wrong.

The glass beside him was shattered with an arrow, an honest to god _arrow_ before he was grabbed by an extraordinarily strong hand and thrown forcibly from his vehicle.

He turned around and saw a man kneeling on the roof of his car, the evil glint of a sword in his hand. Its blade was still stained red, and on looking down Hunt realised why.

There lay the corpse of his second guard. The man had been fucking _decapitated_.

Terrified, he got to his feet and made to flee from the psychopath with the sword. He made it all of two steps before coming face-to-blade with another sword, this one held by a woman in a black corset.

Flicking his head back and forth between the two, his petrified mind couldn't decide what to do.

Moments later, the decision was taken from him as from the shadows emerged two more attackers – one in green, the other in red. Both held bows in their hands. Both currently had arrows aimed at his heart.

 _Oh god… they'd surrounded him…_

His blood turned to ice as his brain chose this moment to remember all of the news reports he'd read over the past month.

' _Fear of vigilantes continues to escalate…'_

' _Ten found dead in warehouse massacre…'_

' _Victims found shot with arrows, others with their throats sliced open. Some missing entire limbs…'_

He nearly had a heart attack where he stood. _These were them… the four vigilantes that had been terrorising the gangs in the glades…_ Evidently they must have gotten bored of chasing drug dealers. This time… _this time they'd come for him._

They began circling him like Lions.

"Nowhere to run now Hunt…" the blonde growled slowly

He feebly held his hands up in surrender. "Just… just tell me what you want!"

Like lightning, the one in green lowered his bow and yanked him close. Hunt was unable to stop himself letting out a whimper of fear. He could see nothing past the man's black facemask. It was like looking at death itself.

And then he spoke.

"You're going to transfer forty million dollars into Starling City Bank account 1141 by ten pm tomorrow night."

At the mention of money, Hunt did what all corrupt millionaires did when faced with losing their fortune: something incredibly stupid.

"Or what?" he hissed.

The man in the black and orange mask tilted his head and growled – a deep, guttural sound. "Or we're going to take it, and you won't like how."

Slowly, torturously slowly, he brought the blade of his sword to rest against Hunt's neck. "That might not be all we take." He threatened.

Hunt whimpered as the razor edge of the steel drew a thin line of blood across his throat. "Okay… okay… I'll do it." he relented as an idea formed in his head. "Just give me some time to get the money together."

The man in the hood held him for a moment longer, before releasing him roughly.

He staggered back to his car and keyed the ignition, before leaning out the side. "IF I SEE YOU AGAIN YOU'RE DEAD!" he yelled as he floored the throttle.

He ducked back inside as the woman in red fired her arrow. He felt it whizz past his skull on its way to taking out the side mirror of his car.

Only once he was out of sight did he allow himself to breathe again.

The four simply watched him go, until the one in green turned to face the other man.

"Did you _have_ to take his head off?" Oliver asked.

Slade shrugged unapologetically. "You said we needed to get our point across. Do you think it worked?"

"Only time will tell…" Nyssa said as the sounds of the fleeing car faded into nothing, "Only time will tell…"

As they turned to leave, the fuse box above them blew again.

Despite all her training, Nyssa jumped slightly at the noise. Explosions always had her on edge, especially since _it_ happened.

…

" _Mistress, the Captain reports that we are dead on course for Lian Yu."_ _The assassin reported behind her._

" _Very good!" she turned to face the man, yelling over the sound of the waves crashing against their boat. "Tell him to aim for the sinking freighter, I want to investigate those explosions first."_

" _It will be done." The assassin bowed, heading back below deck and leaving Nyssa to her thoughts._

 _It had been a long and arduous journey, unlike any she had ever undertaken before. As Heir to the Demon, she was normally only sent on the most high profile missions, where perfection was demanded, yet her father was being unusually tight lipped about this one, even by his standards._

"You are to travel to the Island of Lian Yu." _He had told her._ "Report to me on anything you may find."

 _Straight away that had sent alarm bells ringing inside her head. She did_ not _do_ investigations.

 _Never one to argue with her father's decisions, however, she had acquiesced and embarked with a skeleton crew of fellow assassins for the mysterious Island in the North China Sea._

 _As the tall mountains of Purgatory came into view, she found herself questioning once again why she was here. She was well aware of the coup to shoot down the airline carrying the Chinese Triad assassin, but that had been over a year ago. The island had gone quiet since then. What had changed to so suddenly draw her father's attention to the bleak land mass?_

 _The explosion had drawn her attention though. It had come from a larger freighter anchored close to the coast._

 _As they got closer, she was able to make out the words written on the side of the partly-submerged hull._ Amazo.

" _Men! Get below deck, gather your weapons!" she called loudly._

 _Her fellow assassins that had been manning the port and starboard sides of the craft obeyed immediately, and they all filed down the stairs, leaving Nyssa alone on the deck, having chosen to look the freighter over one last time._

 _That move saved her life._

 _Unknown to her, there had been a third vessel in the area: a seventy year old Japanese submarine piloted by a bearded Russian gangster._

 _The moment the boat appeared on his radar scope, Anatoli Knyazev had been nervous._

 _At first, he'd been tempted to leave them be, hoping it was a rescue craft and that maybe his friend had a chance of escaping with his life. Then he remembered the explosion that signalled the end of the_ Amazo _and he bowed his head._

 _Then he remembered something else._

 _His final conversation with Oliver Queen._

"We have one more torpedo, yes?"

"Yes, but why-"

"Good. Because one of us needs to escape from this place. If you see anyone else approaching the Island, I want you to blow them to hell…"

 _Muttering to himself in Russian, he flipped open the latch guarding the trigger._

" _One more explosion… for old times sake Oliver, my friend." He whispered before closing his eyes and jamming down on the button._

 _Nyssa never knew what hit her._

 _One second, she'd been preparing to join the others downstairs, the next the entire vessel was up in flames as Anatoli's torpedo_ slammed _into it with devastating force, ripping its hull apart and vaporising the assassins inside, killing them instantly._

 _Nyssa was only slightly more fortunate. Though she was shielded from the initial detonation, the force of the blast hurled her violently away, before she smacked back down hard into the water._

 _The impact knocked all the air out of her lungs. She thrashed underwater, desperately trying to get back to the surface, but with her ears ringing, her vision fuzzy and her head pounding, she had no idea which way was up._

 _Her lungs were screaming for air, but she only fell deeper and deeper into the dark water._

 _As her vision darkened, she closed her eyes and repeated the prayer of her people. She knew she'd met her end-_

 _Suddenly, gloriously, she burst back up out of the water, sucking in huge gasps of air, while around her rained down the flaming remains of what had been her boat._

 _Instinct kicked in._

 _Thinking nothing of the mission, nor the fellow warriors she had just lost, she began the long and arduous swim to shore._

 _Eventually, her muscles burning and coughing up salty water, she made it to a sandy beach. Lying on her back, breathing heavily, she stared up at the night sky as the full severity of her situation suddenly hit her._

 _She was stranded. Alone. Her father had not specified a timeframe for her mission. It could be_ months _before she was rescued._

What the hell was she going to do now?

Get inland! _A voice in the back of her head told her._ Get to higher ground.

 _And so, with a groan, she pushed herself up and staggered, exhausted, into the trees._

…

"Do you think your mother will be annoyed with us?" Nyssa asked as she, Oliver and Sara approached the front door of the mansion.

Oliver laughed. "I know for a fact she will be."

Nyssa smiled at him. Their antics last night seemed to have centred him – all of them, really – as if the tedium of this normal, everyday life had been forgotten, even for just the briefest of moments.

His theory was confirmed when he opened the door, and they walked inside to be met by an irate Moira.

"Oliver! Where have you been! I was worried sick!" she raced over to him, fury written on her face, but also clearly relieved beyond measure.

"Mom, I told you we were going out, and we did, that's all." Oliver said casually. "I promise none of us got kidnapped…"

"This isn't a game!" Moira admonished.

"I know." Oliver cut in, suddenly stern. "And I am an adult, I can do what I want, and you can try all you like, but you can't stop me."

Moira glared at her son. "I certainly can." She deadpanned, clearly challenging him to argue. "But I won't." she sighed, ushering them inside.

"Thank you." Oliver said gratefully.

"But if you are going to continue leaving like this, you will do so under protection."

Oliver clenched his jaw as she took his arm and led him into the living room, where a heavily built African-American man was waiting.

"Oliver, I would like you to meet John Diggle, he'll be accompanying you wherever you go from now on."

The man gave a friendly nod, but Oliver did not reply. He simply looked from the bodyguard, back to his mother.

"I appreciate your initiative, mom, but I also said we'd get our own bodyguard. So we did."

Moira turned to him. "What?"

Oliver said nothing. He simply stepped aside, and Moira's eyes widened as he revealed the fourth person standing behind he, Sara and Nyssa.

"Mom… meet Slade Wilson."

* * *

 **Anyone who has read my previous work will know that I do love a cliffhanger…**

 **Hope you liked this one, the start of their mission, how Nyssa arrived on Lian Yu, and a proper introduction of Slade.**

 **A few points: Laurel isn't as accepting of things as initially may have been apparent. Her character is by far the most challenging to write in how I strike a balance between her joy at Sara being alive, and her hatred of Sara and Oliver for what they did to her. This has been the source of much re-writing, and there will be more of this dynamic to come.**

 **You may have noticed an oscillation in how I describe Quentin. This is done deliberately, based on whose point of view I am writing from. For Sara and a few others, he is an ally. For Oliver, he is an enemy, hence the change in name ('Quentin' vs 'Lance')**

 **This story is quickly becoming far more complex than I initially realised. I have all the plot points I want to use in my head, but actually getting those thoughts down is proving trickier than I first expected. I hope I'm giving all four characters their due justice, in a way that is both believable and likeable, as well as using the side characters well. Its only early stages, but this initial set up is very important, for everyone in the story.**

 **If you have any feedback, good or bad, please let me know. I want this story to be as good as I can possibly make it!**

 **P.S Does anyone have any ideas for what Slade's League name should be?**


	6. Sparring

**Well… hi…**

 **I can't apologise enough for taking so long to get this chapter out. Writers block is a horrible, dreadful, evil thing! Combined with work, other literary projects and a few personal things it's just been absolutely impossible for me to get into the mindset of writing this story well, but I got there in the end…**

 **Enjoy!**

* * *

Moira warily eyed the man standing in front of her. Looking him up and down, he was certainly an imposing sight. He was tall – taller than Oliver – and thickly built. Toned lines of hard muscle rippled beneath his exquisite grey suit, and his dark eyes radiated a cool calculation as they swept around the room.

And then he spoke.

"Mrs Queen," his voice was deep and gravelly as he stepped forward with a hand extended, "Slade Wilson, I work for Mr Ducard."

Moira could do nothing but respectfully shake the Australian's hand. "A pleasure, Mr Wilson." She said coolly, "I take it you are here because of my son?"

Slade smiled warmly, though the gesture did not reach his eyes. "Actually I was already stateside. Mr. Ducard sent me as soon as he found out his daughter was alive. When she informed me your son would be requiring protection, I made the arrangements to stay."

"Slade is an old family friend." Nyssa added, "I trust him."

Moira flicked her eyes to the younger woman. "Well please forgive me if I reserve my judgement for the time being."

She turned back to Slade. "What are your qualifications, if I may ask, Mr Wilson?"

Slade's eyes flickered slightly, ever so briefly changing to a look of the darkest disgust that she had the nerve to question him so, but he quickly schooled his features and smoothed the front of his suit.

"I served in the Australian SAS for ten years, ma'am, honourably discharged after I was shot in Iraq, before being recruited by the ASIS – Australian intelligence. I worked there for a further five years until I decided I needed a change of scenery. I know Mr Ducard well from my time overseas, so when I reached out he was happy to offer me a job. I've worked for him ever since."

Moira silently took in this information, analysing it. She missed Sara raising a hand to her mouth to cover her snort of laughter.

"You can validate this with my superiors if you wish." Slade added, almost challengingly.

Moira's mind raced as she tried to think of a way to wrestle back control. Oliver had really thrown her a curveball, and now she was faced with _another_ unknown associate of Oliver's coming into her life. It was very quickly becoming too many, and that was something she was simply not comfortable with, not with everything that was set to happen in the coming months.

"Thank you but that won't be necessary." She replied curtly. "If Nyssa trusts you, then you are more than welcome to remain in Starling as her bodyguard, however I would prefer if my own son was under the protection of someone I trust, and I don't know you Mr Wilson."

"Mom! This is my life we're talking about here. Not yours, mine." Oliver objected, "If Nyssa trusts Slade, then so do I."

He had to force himself not to lower his voice to that of his hooded alter-ego. He hadn't missed his mother's thinly veiled attempt at trying to remove Nyssa from the house with Slade. 'In Starling', not 'here'.

"I've made my decision Oliver!" Moira raised her voice an octave. "And while you live under this roof you will do as I say, understood?"

Oliver clenched his jaw. "Fine."

He couldn't remember her being so… overbearing. Before the island, she'd let him get away with pretty much anything, and even when she did tell him off, her scolding had barely carried any weight to them. Now though… now she was so much more controlling.

It was something he had not accounted for when planning his return. But his skills within the League had never been revered because of his planning. No, they had been because of his ability to _improvise._

He turned around to face his fellow assassins. "Go." He told the two women, "I'll meet you three at the foundry."

"Oliver…" Sara asked warily.

"Just trust me." He placed at hand on her shoulder. "I need to have a chat with my mom first."

Sara sighed, while Nyssa shook her head, but both obeyed and turned away.

Slade took one last look at Moira. "It was a pleasure to meet you." He told Moira with faked sincerity, "If you change your mind, you know how to get in touch."

He handed her a simple white business card, before he too turned and escorted the other two out the door, leaving Oliver alone with his mom and John Diggle – who had respectfully stayed silent as he watched the exchange.

As they left the house, Slade leant down towards Nyssa. "Great… he probably won't get there until dark now… again…"

"Oh have a little faith." Sara clapped him on the shoulder, "I give him an hour, tops."

Slade scoffed in return, to which Sara wiggled her eyebrows. "Assassins wager?" she offered.

Slade paused mid-stride, and evaluated the blonde with a quirked brow. "You're on." He said after a moment.

The two shook hands, then Sara turned towards her female compatriot. "Nyssa?"

The woman groaned. "We are not doing this now…" she rolled her eyes.

"Come onnn…" Sara urged cheekily, "You know you want to…"

Nyssa crossed her arms and glared at Sara for a long moment. "Three hours." She deadpanned.

"We have a wager." Slade smirked, before shifting uncomfortably in his suit. "Now can we please leave, so I can get the hell out of this piece of shit."

…

Meanwhile, Oliver was engaged in a debate of his own with his mother.

"Mom, I just don't understand, why are you so against this?"

Moira folded her arms. "Because you are my son, Oliver! I shouldn't have to tell you why I want to keep you safe."

"So you won't allow Mr. Wilson to do that?"

"It's not just about that." Moira said sternly, making Oliver pause. "Its about protecting this family in general, and that includes from strangers."

"You've let Nyssa stay here…"

"Yes I have, because you three were stranded on that island for such a long time. The doctors advised against separating you immediately."

Oliver froze at her words, and fixed his mother with a cold glare. "So you're going to kick her out?"

Moira appeared unfussed by the drop in her son's voice. "How long do you three plan on staying together?"

Oliver stalked towards his mother, his posture tense, his eyes deadly. "Let me make myself clear. For as long as I _live and breathe_ , Nyssa and Sara will be by my side. _Nothing_ and _no one_ is going to change that."

Moira raised an eyebrow. "You're dating both of these women?" she asked condescendingly.

Oliver snuffed a humourless laugh. "I don't think that's any of your business-"

"You made it my business when you brought a complete stranger into my home!" Moira interjected. "How much do you really know about her?"

"I know a hell of a lot more than you." Oliver growled through clenched teeth.

"And I know a lot more than you about the threats towards our family, Oliver! Do you have any how many attempts to steal our wealth there have been over the years? How many women who have only been interested in your money? I understand you feel strongly for Miss Raatko, but I can't just let her stay here without knowing more about her first."

She put her hands on Oliver's shoulders to placate him, but he coldly shrugged her off and stepped away from her. When he spoke, his voice could have frozen lava.

"I can tell you right now that Nyssa is not interested in money in the slightest." He ground out as he backed away, before fixing his eyes directly on hers. "And let me tell you something else… If Nyssa leaves this house, then I leave with her."

Moira never got a chance to say another word as the front door slammed behind him.

She sighed, wondering what to do about her predicament, before remembering the business card in her hand. Flipping it over, she scanned the writing for information.

She was not impressed by what she saw.

The only thing on the little white card was a hastily written scrawl:

' _Slade Wilson_

 _1800 I LIKE SWORDS'_

…

The three assassins had just about finished organising the last of their gear for the coming night when they heard the telltale sound of the door above them opening, signalling the entrance of the fourth member of their team.

Sara cocked her head at the noise. "Is that what I think it is?" she asked mischievously.

Slade scoffed. "Not a chance, its not even sunset yet-"

"Hey guys, you miss me?" Oliver called as he appeared at the top of the stairs.

Slade blanched at the sight of the younger man. "No way…" he muttered, "No bloody way…"

Shaking his head in disgust, he turned away, while Nyssa grinned and Sara whooped in victory.

Oliver watched Slade walk away in abstract confusion, before shooting a glance at Nyssa. "Assassin's wager?"

Nyssa nodded. "Assassin's wager."

Realisation dawned, and Oliver felt a smile forming as Sara came over. "Indeed it is, for how long it would take you to get here, and let's look at the time…"

She raised her wrist and looked at the simple black watch. "One hour, forty minutes." She announced triumphantly. "Which means Nyssa and I win, and Slade-"

"No!' The Australian cut in gruffly, though he couldn't mask the sheer defeat in his voice. "I'm not doing it!"

"You know the rules." Sara told him. "The loser of the wager has to clean and/or replenish the others' weapons, for a week."

"I am not smelting his bloody arrows!" Slade protested indignantly.

"Oh yes you are." Nyssa and Oliver said at the same time, before Oliver continued. "Unless of course, you'd prefer the forfeit…"

Slade's eyes widened as he remembered what the 'forfeit' involved, and after a moment he bowed his head in resignation. "Fine…"

"Excellent! Now we can get to work…" Oliver said as he moved over to his crate.

"How did you deal with evading your new bodyguard?" Nyssa inquired.

"Oh that… pfft… After years running from Slade on the Island, it was a piece of cake." Oliver shrugged, pulling his bow from the crate as he did so. "I would have gotten here sooner if I didn't have to stop by and see Tommy."

"And are we all set for tonight?"

"We are." Oliver nodded. "Conveniently, the convention centre is opposite Hunt's office, and even more conveniently, Tommy has booked it for our 'Welcome Home' party, now-"

He turned around, his eyes shifting in an instant from bright blue to sharp, icy daggers.

He flicked the bow over absently in his hands. "Who's ready to spar?"

The response was unanimous – even Slade perked up from his sullen silence at the mention of sparring - and all three moved to join Oliver at the table side.

"Sequence?" Sara asked as she gathered her twin blades.

Nyssa thought for a moment. "We should only need two for tonight's mission, so we spar in doubles."

Sara frowned, "We don't have a stick…"

"Oh yes we do…" Oliver smirked, reaching behind him to pick up an arrow. "Now that I don't need to worry about replacements, I'll just snap this…"

He sent a knowing grin at Slade as he broke the shaft into four sections of different lengths.

Slade shook his head in disgust. "I so hope you draw the short one…" he growled.

Oliver said nothing in response as he held the sections up in the centre of their group, the bottom ends concealed in his hand. After a moment's consideration, Nyssa, Sara and Slade plucked a section of arrow from Oliver's grasp.

"And… reveal." Oliver said, and everyone held their section up at once.

The reaction was instantaneous.

Sara paled visibly, her face going white as a sheet, while Slade grumbled unhappily and Oliver failed terribly at disguising his sigh of relief.

Only Nyssa remained impassive. "It seems we are battling our own weapons today."

Sara swallowed. "But-"

"No buts!" Nyssa silenced her. "As with the wager, we all know the rules: The short stick gets the dubious honour of sparring with the lovely Mr. Wilson."

Sara looked down sadly at the length of carbon in her hand – visibly smaller than the other three – before bowing her head in defeat. "Fine…" she sulked.

Sullenly placing her weapons in their twin holsters on her back, she made her way up the stairs. Slade followed soon after, his own blade already drawn in eager anticipation in getting some revenge on the blonde for that damn wager.

The two archers were left on their own on the lower level. "I would not worry over Sara's wellbeing, Slade knows we have a mission tonight" Nyssa said casually, noticing Oliver's eyes trailing after the blonde.

She got no response though.

Instead, Oliver stalked silently down to the other end of the room. Propping his bow up against the wall, he wordlessly removed his shirt and strapped his quiver on, before regathering his primary weapon and turning back around to face her.

Nyssa paused for a moment, just taking in the sight of her fellow assassin. His many scars glinted hauntingly in the dull light, ragged strips of tissue criss-crossing his body like some sort of gory camouflage.

It was his eyes that drew her attention though. Narrowed and fierce, his azure irises held within them a raw, simmering _anger_ , a barely contained rage straining to break free. It was an emotion he did not often betray, and she knew instantly that something was wrong.

"Are you alright?" she asked as she moved to stand on the opposite side of the room.

"Absolutely fine." Oliver growled, fingers twitching impatiently on his weapon.

Nyssa knew he was lying, but let it go for the moment. There would be time to discuss his emotions later. For now, she was content to let him get his frustration out of his system, so she fluidly pulled her own shirt over her head, leaving her only in a simple black sports bra (it was hot after all).

"Two can play at that game." She smirked when she saw his eyes flick down to her chest briefly.

A response formed on Oliver's tongue, but it died before reaching his lips as the next thing he knew, a red and black arrow was flying directly at his face.

With lightning reflexes honed over years of training, he ducked just in time, and the arrow sailed harmlessly overhead. He looked up to see Nyssa standing there casually, looking to all the world as if she hadn't even moved, let alone fired an arrow.

He growled, and clenched his fist tightly. He had forgotten just how damn _fast_ she was.

Then, for the first time that day, a wry smile formed on his lips, and he seamlessly reached behind him to draw an arrow of his own. In a movement as familiar to him as eating and breathing, he nocked the arrow, drew, and let loose.

Then the real duel began.

…

Upstairs, steel clashed with steel in furious intensity as Sara found herself standing opposite a very mean looking Slade Wilson.

She knew from experience that the way he held his treasured Katana – both hands gripping the hilt, poised and ready to strike – meant that he was itching for a fight. She also knew he had every right to be pissed off (Oliver did go through a _lot_ of arrows), but then again it served him right for agreeing to the wager in the first place.

And if he thought he'd be able to extract some sort of apology from her through ruthless swordplay, he was sorely mistaken.

Sara Lance backed down to _no one._

Her thin bladed swords were feather light in her hands, the texture of their grip imprinted on her memory. While similar in design to the weapons Slade had on the Island, these were of a far superior design – straight from the finest armourers in Nanda Parbat.

"Change your mind yet?" Slade taunted her.

She narrowed her electric blue eyes at him. "You wish…"

And then she attacked.

If such a thing were at all possible, Sara was the least skilled of the four, having been training for the shortest amount of time, but what she lacked in talent she made up for in sheer determination, unwavering tenacity and pure, _blinding_ speed.

She moved like a Viper, her swords mere blurs as she swang at her opponent with perfectly honed precision, and even Slade was forced backwards under the intensity of her attack.

Even her swords themselves were unique. While most blades utilised by the League of Assassins were simple steel, hers were a high tech combination of carbon and titanium, chemically fused together to create an ultra light, but ultra strong weapon, and she used them to great effect.

Spinning herself around like a dynamo, she aimed a series of slashes first at Slades ankles, then at his upper body in an attempt to use the man's cumbersome style against him, but Slade was more than up for the challenge.

He leapt over her low swing, deflected another then ducked under a sword aimed at his neck, happy to simply evade his opponent for the time being, biding his time, waiting for the right-

Slade struck brutally.

A thunderous blow from his double-edged katana sent one of Sara's lightweight weapons flying from her hand. The blonde stumbled, momentarily caught out by the sudden loss of one of her weapons, and then quickly found herself on the back foot as Slade came at her again.

Ducking and weaving, she back peddled rapidly in order to evade Slade's relentless blows. Spying an opportunity, she dived to the side, rolling over her back before she deftly snatched her fallen sword off the ground.

As she got back to her feet, she utilised a feature unique to her weapons.

She joined the two hilts together, the twisted them sideways. A mechanical click was heard as they locked together, leaving Sara with a double bladed staff.

When she'd first started training, she'd instantly been drawn to a bo-staff, compensating for her lack of skill with the fluency such a weapon provided. However, in the League, she'd quickly learnt that blunt ends weren't much use for killing enemies – it had taken one particularly horrific incident for her to learn that fact – and so she'd adapted to the weapon she now used.

And she was ruthlessly effective with it.

Twirling the staff around herself to build momentum, she briefly saw a smile cross Slade's face, and then she launched herself at him.

It was a good thing they'd taken the time to sound-proof the walls of the abandoned factory, otherwise the outside world would have definitely been exposed the sounds of the blades colliding as the two resumed their duel.

They fought in perfect harmony, like a deadly ballet.

Sara attacked, Slade fended.

Slade lunged, Sara parried.

As time passed, the strain of the duel began to show, as both fighter's attacks became slower and more laboured, and more and more hits were landed.

Sara sneakily dropped to the ground, spinning around on one foot in an attempt to trip the older man over, but Slade saw it coming and leapt aside, and as Sara stood up he saw an opening and brought his sword down.

Instinctually, Sara split her hands and brought the centre of her staff up to block Slade's Katana. The impact of the heavier sword jarred her hands, and as such she was unable to recover in time to block Slade's kick to her left side.

She grunted as the blow connected, dropping to her haunches but Slade wasn't finished yet.

In the same movement, he brought his sword around from the side, battering her staff away and leaving her front exposed, then finished with a well aimed kick to her midriff that sent her sprawling to her back on the ground.

Sara grunted, winded, and pushed herself up onto her elbows only to freeze when she saw the point of Slade's Katana levelled between her eyes.

She sighed. "Don't say it…"

He stared smugly down at her.

"Don't forget who taught you how to fight."

…

Downstairs, Oliver and Nyssa were locked in a duel of their own.

Both archers moved seamlessly as they raced around the room, drawing arrows and firing in fluid perfection.

Fortunately, their expensive computers and hardware had been moved safety aside, because the two assassins took advantage of the entire room in their effort to gain the upper hand.

It was a movement Oliver never got tired of, the sequence of his right arm moving behind his back, returning to his bow, drawing back again and then releasing. It was ingrained into his very conscience, and with each arrow he released, he released a little of the anger he felt towards his mother along with it.

He was a prodigy, his fellow assassins whispered to each other in the hallways of Nanda Parbat. His efficiency with the bow in his hand was legendary, matched only by one other.

Nyssa.

If Oliver was a prodigy, then she was the professor.

No one, _no one_ could compete with her mastery of combat, not even Slade.

Having been trained since birth by the most dangerous man in the world, one would think it a given that Nyssa would be so skilled, however they all well knew that it is more than just circumstance that makes a warrior. Far more important is the will of the individual, and Nyssa was the most determined of them all.

She was so good not because of her heritage, nor her teachers. She was good because she _wanted_ to be. She practised every day, with every kind of weapon, spending hour upon hour honing her skills with a dedication none of the other three could ever hope to match.

She was impossibly precise, unfailingly accurate and truly, properly _deadly._

She moved around the room with the grace of a Panther, and the speed of a Gazelle, popping up seemingly out of nowhere to send another arrow Oliver's way.

He relished the challenge, revelled in it. Patrolling the streets at night was one thing, but it was only when he was fighting his fellow assassins – Nyssa in particular - that he felt truly alive.

His every sense was alert, singing to him with reactions to the world around him. The musky smell of wet concrete, the sounds of the other two sparring upstairs, the whoosh of air as Nyssa fired once more.

Bringing his bow up, he took a split second to aim and release, his own arrow flying towards Nyssa's. The two projectiles collided in mid-air, shattering instantly.

Oliver wasted no time moving out from behind his cover and sprinting towards the centre of the room. Nyssa had the same idea as she vaulted one of the benches with ease. As they ran towards each other, they continued firing and dodging in turn until they met in the middle with a dull clash of bows.

While not as efficient as the swords they wielded when on missions, the bows were just as effective as a melee weapon, and the two swang at each other over and over.

Oliver quickly found himself struggling to keep up with Nyssa's incredible pace, so thinking quickly he span himself out of range and, aiming his bow at the ground, pressed a small button on the side of he grip.

Instantly, two tiny darts shot out of special launchers in the side of the bow, striking the ground and detonating in twin explosions of smoke.

A handy distraction.

The smoke quickly engulfed the centre of the room, separating him from Nyssa.

He draw a final arrow and kept it trained on the smoke cloud. He knew what she was like, and could anticipate what she would do next.

His gaze was unwavering as he stared into the roiling grey cloud. _Any second now… any second…_

Just as he predicted, Nyssa came flying out of the smokescreen, having used one of the benches to launch herself into the air.

The arrow was released instantly. Oliver felt the bow-string twinge against his forearm lightly as it's tip raced straight towards Nyssa. She didn't even have an arrow of her own drawn, and Oliver allowed himself a small smile. _Finally…_

What happened next though, happened very, _very_ fast.

In a move that Oliver never could have predicted, Nyssa caught the arrow _in mid-air_ , then as its momentum sent her spinning, she nocked it on her own bow before – still airborne – she completed her revolution and sent the arrow flying straight back at him.

Oliver never had a chance to react.

Perfectly, aimed, his own arrow _slammed_ into his bow, sending it flying from his grip before Nyssa finished her brutal attack with a flying kick straight to Oliver's face.

The next thing he knew, he was flat on the ground with the raven-haired assassin kneeled astride him, an arrow aimed right at his face.

"Any last words?" she smirked victoriously at him, breathing heavily.

Oliver coughed. "That was new…"

"Was it new? Or have you just not been paying attention?" Nyssa pointed out as she got off him and helped him back to his feet.

Oliver had no response to that, merely hanging his head in defeat as he gathered his bow – and his pride – up off the floor, just as the upper door opened and in walked Slade – with a very beaten and bruised looking Sara trailing behind him.

Oliver winced, just as he did every time he saw the horrible scarring on her stomach as painful memories resurfaced, and he quickly made his way over to her and placed a soft, caring kiss on her lips.

"You okay?" he asked, more out of habit than anything else.

"Don't worry, I gave as good as I got." Sara grinned at him, and he smiled in return.

"Keep telling yourself that." Slade grunted from the side, and all three shifted their eyes to him disapprovingly.

Slade raised his hands. "Don't worry, I didn't leave any marks that will be seen later tonight…"

"I would hope not." Nyssa told him. "I would hate to have to punish you for doing so later."

"We should get going." Oliver interjected as the last of the sunlight vanished, leaving the foundry illuminated only by the overhead lights. The party wasn't due to commence for another hour or so, but they still needed to hide their weapons and armour in preparation.

The others nodded in return, and their gear was quickly and efficiently packed away.

"So who gets to take down this bastard?" Sara asked as she shouldered her jacket.

All four looked at each other before, somewhat surprisingly, Slade spoke up. "I think it should be you and Oliver." He said gently. "It's only right that you two get to start the mission to save your city."

Oliver and Sara both looked at him, stunned by his genuine response. While a trivial matter, the honour of commencing their crusade, and ticking off the first name on the list held a great sentimental value to both Oliver and Sara.

Sara moved over to him and, in a rare movement, she wrapped her arms around him and sank her head into his broad chest. "Thank you." She whispered to him.

Slade knew she was not just talking about the mission.

Oliver and Nyssa watched on in silence as Sara separated herself from her mentor. Slade was the only male besides Oliver that Sara was comfortable being in physical contact with, but even then such times were rare, so they all knew how much Slade's words meant to the blonde.

"Let's get going." Nyssa eventually said, and Oliver and Sara gathered their gear in duffle bags before all four moved as one towards the exit.

"I still can't believe you put in that blasted Salmon Ladder." Slade grumbled to Oliver as they walked past the jagged metal frame. "What was wrong with the wooden one on the Island?"

Oliver frowned at him. "You kept breaking it!"

"Only because you didn't build it right in the first place!"

Oliver shook his head as he closed the door to the foundry, sealing their lair off to the world once more. "I think you're just soft…" he muttered under his breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing!"

* * *

 **Apologies if this chapter was of a lower quality than previous ones, for some reason it was just impossible to get the words down, but hopefully now I can update a bit more regularly.**

 **This chapter was originally meant to be a lot longer, I was going to finish off episode one but the lighter tone of this chapter just didn't fit with what's coming next (which is I think what made it so hard to write), so I decided to just dedicate an entire chapter to the four training and interacting together.**

 **I'm sorry to say this, but unfortunately this story is going to have to be put on the back foot a little bit, just because the sheer scale of this project is far greater than I first anticipated. I never expected this story to get so popular so fast, so thank you for all of your support, but it means that I'm feeling a lot of pressure to make this story as good as it can be, and that means a lot more emphasis on characterisation and subplots than I originally had planned.**

 **Don't worry, I'm still going to keep working on it, and I will definitely finish this story, it might just take a while. I want to focus on my other half-finished projects as much as possible, and get them out of the way so I can focus all of my time on this story.**

 **As always, feel free to let me know what you think of this chapter, what you may or may not want to see in the future and what I can improve on. Any feedback is better than none!**

 **Next chapter is when the story really kicks in. Until then!**


	7. Awal

**He everyone! After something of a hiatus I'm back with a new chapter! Sorry for making you wait so long, life for me has been very busy. Working two jobs, rediscovering some other passions in life and I've met a very special person, so unfortunately I've not been able to work on any stories whatsoever.**

 **To make up for this, enjoy 7000 words to close out the first episode**

"I know this is our cover and all… but do I really have to be here?" Slade grumbled as the quartet descended the stairs – at the bottom of which were hundreds of upper-class partiers variously drinking, flirting and dancing to blaring music – a combination of everything Slade Wilson despised.

"Yup." Sara chirped beside him, entirely unfussed by her elegant glittered black dress.

"But I'm not even part of this mission-"

"Hey, you're the one who said it should be Sara and I, and besides you just seemed to love that suit so much last time, I figured you wouldn't want to miss another opportunity to wear it." Oliver smirked at the older man.

Slade paused for a moment to look down at the same damn grey suit he had worn to the meeting with Moira. He shook his head in disgust. "One day soon, I am going to kill you, kid…"

Oliver scoffed. "You say that every time, yet you never do…"

"Very, _very_ soon…"

Their squabble was interrupted by the figure of Tommy Merlyn hastily bounding up the stairs to greet them.

"Hey hey everybody!" He yelled, while simultaneously gesturing for the DJ to cut the music and slapping Oliver on his back, "Man of the hour! Please, give this man a proper homecoming!"

The crowd cheered as one while ' _We Are The Champions'_ boomed out of the loudspeakers. In a moment of insecurity, Oliver glanced back at the other three, unsure of what to do. On receiving a reassuring nod from Nyssa, he took a deep breath, set his jaw and made his way down the remaining stairs and up onto an elevated platform.

"Thank you very much everybody!" he greeted the partygoers, before accepting a shotglass from Tommy. The alcohol burned his throat as he downed it without hesitation.

"I missed Tequila!" he shouted, and with that the party was back on.

While the others resumed their festivities, Oliver was quick to rejoin his fellow assassins.

"I hope your aim is not compromised after that drink." Nyssa said neutrally – a tone Oliver recognised well. It was one of subtle amusement, tempered with a cautioned warning.

"I'll be fine." Oliver promised her, pulling out his phone. "We still have an hour-"

"An hour for what?" Tommy interrupted as he joined them, drink in hand.

"An hour to escape him." Sara covered light-heartedly, jerking her head towards one John Diggle, who stood off to the side, dutifully scanning for threats, though the scowl on his face betrayed his anger at Oliver that had seemingly not dissipated since picking the man up from the city.

"Ahh…" Tommy said, taking another sip from his glass. "Does he wipe for you too?" he joked to Oliver, before noticing Slade. "Hey, who's your friend?"

Not noticing Sara step back nervously, he moved towards the Australian, arm extended. "Tommy Merlyn. Billionaire, playboy, all round awesome guy."

Slade looked down at Tommy's hand, before flicking his eyes back up. He did not like what he saw. Instead of making a scene, he grabbed Tommy's hand in the firmest grip he could muster, and he saw the other man visibly wince.

"Slade Wilson. Bodyguard. Ex Special Forces. Trained demolition expert." He deadpanned, releasing Tommy's hand, but not before seeing him swallow thickly.

Fighting the urge not to cradle his hand, Tommy backed away from Slade. "I see… Nice to meet you…" he mumbled, before nodding at Oliver, "Now if you'll excuse me I'm going to go get a drink… all the drinks…"

Watching as Tommy retreated hastily back into the crowd, Oliver flicked his eyes to the Australian, who stood with his arms crossed and a dismissive look on his face.

"What?" he shrugged.

Oliver just shook his head and turned to move away, eager to escape the heart of the party, only to freeze when he caught sight of the last person he expected to see here.

His sister – admittedly resplendent in a long sleeved blue dress – was stood off to the side with two other girls. One in particular looked to be attempting to pressure her into accepting a small plastic bag.

Not needing to be an assassin to work out what was in it, Oliver felt his entire body stiffen with anger and immediately began walking over. Sara made to go with him, onto to be held back by Nyssa. "This is between the two of them" She inferred.

Sara watched on as her partner approached the girls, his posture nothing short of predatory.

"Thea!" he called out, causing the girl in question to look up in shock, "What are you doing here?"

"Ollie!" his sister exclaimed, eyes wide, "Hi! I- I was just-"

"What's this?" Oliver interrupted, snatching the bag from her hand.

"No, Ollie, please, it's not what it-"

But it was too late. Oliver knew drugs when he saw them, and he could barely contain his rage at the sight of the pills.

Thea stopped pleading when she saw the look that came over her brother's face. In all the years she'd known him, she'd never seen him look so utterly _scary._ His whole body was dead still, but his piercing blue eyes bore a hole right through her, and suddenly she was face to face not with her brother, but with the man who had survived five years on a deserted island.

It was when he turned his glare on the girls who had forced the drugs on her though that truly made her shiver. It was like the entire room dropped in temperature. The two girls had previously been trying to back away and disguise themselves in the crowd, but now they found themselves frozen.

"Hit the road." Oliver growled lowly. The cold fury of his voice brought goosebumps to Thea's skin. The two girls didn't need to be told twice, and rapidly headed for the exit, leaving Oliver alone with his sister.

"Thea." He said quietly, taking her arm and leading her away from the music. "Please tell me this isn't what I think it is."

"It's not, Ollie, I swear!" Thea shook her head vehemently. "They forced me to take it."

At her words, Oliver felt just a little of his anger bleed out. "You shouldn't even be here, you're seventeen." He told her.

Thea looked down guiltily, and seemed to physically deflate. "I know… I just…" she sighed, "I just knew you were going to be here… and after five years…" she trailed off as her shoulders started trembling.

"Well Thea, let this be a reminder of why you shouldn't be at these events." Oliver said coldly, not noticing his sisters emotional state, "These-" he held the bag up, "Are a one way ticket to an early grave."

Thea looked horrified.

"Now, let me call my bodyguard, and he will take you home." Oliver finished, spying an opportunity to remove both his sister and Diggle from the scene – two variables he did not like having to plan around.

He turned and threw the drugs into a nearby bin, and turned back around to face his sister, only to freeze.

Thea was gone.

…

Over at the bar, Tommy Merlyn helped himself to another glass of scotch, hoping it would distract him from his aching hand.

'S _urly bastard…'_ he thought to himself, _'Who invited the fucking Terminator?'_

Looking around the crowd, he couldn't see his best friend anywhere, nor any of the other three he had arrived with. Tommy frowned to himself. This was meant to be a night of fun and celebration, and a resumption of his and Oliver's gallivanting of old. Instead, Oliver had seemed a shade of his former self all night, and if Tommy didn't know better, he would think his friend didn't even want to be here.

Tommy looked down at the buzzing of his phone. Fishing the device out of his pocket, he read the message on the screen, and bowed his head.

' _Sorry, its your scene, not mine' – Laurel_

Tommy swore internally. This night had just gone from bad to worse.

Resigning himself to another one night stand – likely with that Twilight looking girl – he downed the rest of his drink, and promptly ordered another.

…

On the other side of the hall, another man was dissatisfied with the display on his phone.

It was past 10pm now, and still no money had been transferred.

Oliver Queen growled to himself as he put the phone away. He had given Hunt a chance, and the fool had not taken it. If anything though, Oliver was glad about that. After the events of the last few days with his mother, and now his sister, he was itching for a proper fight. He could feel his muscles twitching, his instincts pulsing.

He rejoined the others with a hard steel glint in his eyes.

"There you are, thought you'd got lost." Slade remarked, but Oliver ignored him.

"It's time. You remember the plan, yes?" He said simply, and the other three nodded in understanding. "Good."

"There is just one problem." Nyssa spoke, flicking her eyes subtly to the ever watchful Diggle.

"Leave him to us." Sara said, smirking at Oliver, taking him by the hand and leading him away from the party.

…

John Diggle hurried down the corridor he had just seen his client disappear down. After what had happened in the car earlier that day, he was not going to let Queen out of his sight, much less allow him another chance to give him the slip.

He rounded a corner, only to stop in his tracks at the sight in front of him.

Oliver and Sara were up against a fire exit, arms wrapped around each other, kissing passionately.

Taking a moment to compose himself, Diggle cleared his throat loudly, causing the two to jump apart.

"Oh my god!" "Dig!" They remarked simultaneously, both flushing red at the appearance of the bodyguard.

"Seriously?" Oliver exclaimed, rebuttoning his shirt while Sara smoothed down her dress. "Can't I have just a _little_ privacy?"

"With all due respect, sir," Diggle replied, "After your actions earlier today, I can't take any chances. Your mother's instructions were very clear."

"Well… ignore them!" Oliver said loudly, playing the part of the drunken party boy from the tabloids, "Take the night off, grab a drink! You've earned it." Beside him, Sara giggled, and allowed herself to lean on his shoulder.

Diggle was unmoved. "I'm sorry sir, but that won't be happening. I'm sure there will be time for… that…" he gestured to the two of them, "…later. In the meantime, the party's this way…"

"Diggle, we were on an island for _five years_." Oliver pushed, enunciating his words slowly. "Five years, is a _long time_. Now, you can either stay here, do your job and watch us – which I wouldn't recommend – or, you can run along, and I'll see you in the morning. Deal?"

Diggle folded his arms and leaned against the wall. He'd seen this all before. "Go ahead." He challenged.

Oliver froze at the mans actions. Clearly he was more dedicated to his job than he first anticipated. He grit his teeth thinking of a way out without giving the man a clue at his potential.

Having called Oliver's bluff, Diggle allowed a small smile to form. It was then though, that he felt a sudden and firm pressure on either side of his neck, and then his world turned to black.

Oliver and Sara watched, stunned, as the bodyguard dropped from view, revealing in his place the disapproving form of Nyssa.

It was a classic League technique, grasping the pressure points of the carotid artery on the neck in just the right place for just the right amount of time halted blood supply to the brain, starving it of oxygen for enough time to induce instant unconsciousness, but not long enough to risk brain damage. Perfect for situations like this.

"Must I always… how do you American's say… ' _cover your ass'_?" she smirked at the two of them. "Now go, time is of the essence!"

Oliver and Sara didn't need to be told twice.

They bolted up the stairs – being careful to avoid any security cameras – until they found themselves on the roof where they had hidden their gear. They wasted no time in carefully removing their fancy clothes, before laying them out strategically so they would be easy to change back into afterwards and adorned themselves in their League garbs.

Oliver shouldered his quiver while Sara slid her twin swords into their holsters on her back. Due to the nature of this particular mission, they'd decided to pack only their primary weapons. Too much equipment ran the risk of being detected.

Flicking his bow over in his hands, Oliver looked over at Sara. "You know your father will likely be over there." He said gently.

Sara didn't look at him. "I know." She growled.

"Just a reminder…" Oliver said quietly as he nocked a very specific arrow. He took a deep breath. "For Shado."

"For Robert." Sara echoed next to him.

The two locked eyes.

"For us."

…

Thirty floors above the ground, Adam Hunt paced nervously as around him, his newly employed private security force readied their weapons. There was no way he was just going to hand over the money, but at the same time, he just couldn't forget their threats echoing over and over in his head…

" _Or we're going to take it, and you won't like how…"_

Hunt jumped as he felt a tap on his shoulder. He span around only to see his new head of security, Drakon.

"It's past ten, they're never getting in here." The man informed him.

"Good." Hunt nodded. Seeing the sheer number of submachine guns in front of him certainly made him feel better. Skilled or not, there was no way a group of bow and sword wielding thugs could get past 950 rounds of ammunition per minute.

A quick glance at the clock showing fifteen minutes past the hour reassured him further. Obviously the so-called vigilantes had been bluffing. Hunt sat back down behind his desk, starting to feel much safer.

That was precisely when every light in the office went out at once.

Hunt, along with all of his men, instantly jumped to his feet.

"Get down!" Drakon hissed at him, prompting him to duck behind his desk while the burly man stood guard over him.

Out in the hallway, the other members of Hunt's security detail readied their weapons, levelling their MP7's on the elevator at the end. Being the only entrance to the office, the vigilantes would have no choice but to use it. They didn't know what they were walking into.

The men chocked their hammers as the elevator pinged, ready to fire the moment the doors opened-

They did.

Only nothing happened.

The doors slowly slid open, revealing nothing but an eerie white smoke, drifting lazily out into the hall. The men kept their guns trained, straining their eyes for the slightest movement.

Suddenly, from nowhere, an arrow shot out of the fog, so quickly that the man at the back had absolutely no time to react as the arrow _slammed_ into his face, its deadly tip penetrating the bridge of his nose and driving itself into his brain, killing him instantly.

Convulsing violently, the man dropped the ground, while the others jammed down on their triggers, not caring that they couldn't see through the smoke.

A few seconds later, the guns clicked, empty of ammunition. Cautiously, the men edged forward, not thinking to reload. There was no way they could have missed.

It was then that they saw it.

A faint shadow, dropping down from the access hatch on top of the elevator like a wraith.

It would be the last thing they ever saw.

Sara burst forward out of the smoke, taking the men completely by surprise.

Their empty guns were useless as she twirled her joined swords ruthlessly, cutting the men down where they stood. She removed ones arm, before slicing his throat open with the other end of her weapon. Kicking behind her, she shattered another's knee, causing the man to fall to the ground screaming while the third fell courtesy of a brutal jab straight to his heart.

The last man – standing guard over the door to Hunt's office - was stunned at first by the speed and ferocity of the attack, but he quickly came to his senses as he hurriedly jammed another clip into his weapon, before levelling it at the blonde vigilante's head.

To his surprise, she just stood there, smirking.

The man never even saw the other figure emerge from the elevator, striding out of the smoke like some sort of verdant demon. Never saw him seamlessly draw an arrow. Never saw the projectile coming until it was imbedded in his heart.

…

Inside the office, Hunt heard the attack the moment it started, and had already pressed the panic button under his desk, alerting the police that he was under attack. Judging by the screams of his men stationed outside, they couldn't come soon enough.

Drakon meanwhile along with one other has his own MP7 trained on the door. He wouldn't make the same mistake.

Suddenly ,the glass shattered as someone smashed through the door, and Drakon jammed down on the trigger. The body jolted under dozens of high velocity bullets, showering the posh velour of the walls with blood. It was only when it dropped, virtually unrecognisable did he realise it was one of his own men.

He paid dearly for his distraction.

The next thing he knew, his compatriot was screaming as he was felled by the blonde woman with the swords, while his own weapon was shot out of his hand with pinpoint accuracy.

He looked up from his fallen gun in shock, spying the two vigilantes standing side by side as they stalked into the room. Snarling with rage, he drew his K-Bar knife and charged towards them.

…

Having taken care of the rest of Hunt's security, Oliver deftly sidestepped the attacking man, leaving him for Sara to take.

The sounds of clashing blades echoed in his ear as he moved towards Hunts desk.

Spying the millionaire hiding underneath it, he growled in anger as he reached under and yanked the man out, not unlike the way Slade had done in the carpark. Unseen by the man, he also jammed a tiny flechette into Hunt's desk, burying it deep inside the wood until it was out of sight. It would not do to have the police find it.

Hunt screamed in terror as he found himself on the wrong end of a green tipped arrow for the second time in as many nights. Looking over the man's shoulder, he saw Drakon yell in pain was he was tripped over by the blonde woman. He was quickly silenced however when she mercilessly jammed her sword down, piercing his heart and ending his life.

Hunt swallowed. It was all he could do not to pass out as he felt the blood drain from his face.

"We told you you wouldn't like how we took it." The Archer growled lowly, his voice disguised by some sort of electronic modulator.

Hunt's eyes were drawn to the woman as she rejoined her partner. The tips of her swords were still red with a grizzly slick of blood. Hunt closed his eyes. He knew his life was over.

"SCPD, PUT YOUR WEAPONS DOWN!"

The call was music to Hunt's ears as the police charged into the room.

Oliver and Sara whipped around around simultaneously. Sara's eyes shot open when she saw her father train his pistol on her. Oliver growled, quelling his instincts to stand and fight. They had what they came for.

Instead, he threw Hunt effortlessly across the room, blocking the officers' line of sight as he and Sara sprinted across the room. He fired a final arrow at the glass, shattering it, before the two made the leap out into thin air, Sara grabbing his waist while he turned his bow around in his hands.

Meanwhile, Lance untangled himself from Hunt and raced over to the broken window, just in time to see the two vigilantes slide down a fixed wire, towards the very same building his daughter was currently inside.

"Tell me you saw that…" His partner, Hilton panted breathlessly as he joined him by the window's edge.

"Saw, yes. Believed, no." Lance said dryly. "Come on!"

…

Back at the convention centre, the party was still in full swing when suddenly the music was cut and the lights switched on in full.

Slade and Nyssa watched on as uniformed officers stormed the building.

"Search the premises, roof to basement, find them!" Sara's father ordered, before catching sight of the two.

"Miss Raatko, have you seen my daughter?" He asked quickly, ignoring Slade.

"I believe she went to freshen up." She said smoothly. It wasn't a total lie either, Sara was indeed 'freshening up'. "Is everything alright?"

"There was an attack across the road." Quentin told her seriously, and she gasped in feigned surprise.

"Attack, what attack?" Sara said, appearing seemingly from nowhere behind her father.

Quentin span around quickly to envelop his daughter in a hug, only for her to jump away, and he cursed himself for forgetting how she reacted to such things.

"S-sorry daddy…" she stumbled

"It's okay, baby girl, I forgot." Quentin told her as calmly as he could before squaring his shoulders. "Adam Hunt was just attacked, by the same people who rescued Oliver."

"Did someone say my name?" Oliver asked as he appeared on the scene, automatically standing by Sara's side. "Detective, is everything alright?"

Quentin took a moment to eye Oliver up and down, and to mask the scowl that wanted to form. "No, it's not." He told him, "Those same guys that saved you and Merlyn just killed eight people across the road."

Sara's hands flew to her mouth. "Oh my god…" she whispered, falling into Oliver's side.

For his part, Oliver stumbled back half a pace, and plastered a look of shock on his face. "Are you serious?" he asked in disbelief.

The Detective nodded. "Last we saw them, they ziplined down here onto the roof."

"Well is there any way I can help?" Oliver asked, "Maybe I can offer a reward or-"

"Just stay away from this, Queen." Lance interrupted firmly. "I already thought I lost my daughter once, I'm not going to lose her to some murderous nutjobs, am I clear?"

Oliver looked the man in his eye. He could see the anger and the resentment the man held for him for what he had done in the past, but he also saw something else, a desperate plea to keep Sara safe. That, he could respect.

He nodded. "Absolutely."

Lance seemed surprised at first at Oliver's apparent maturity, before he snapped back into Detective mode. "Good. Now tell your rich friends to clear out of here, we have work to do, and Sara?"

At the mention of her name, Sara looked up at her father.

"You stay safe alright baby." He told her quietly.

She nodded softly as her father walked away and began barking orders at his officers.

"You know it's some coincidence, right." Tommy said as he walked over somewhat drunkenly, "You asking to have your party here, and then Hunt gets robbed next door by the same people that saved us the other day."

Such was his inebriated state that he did not notice how Oliver's face changed. Flicking from somewhat neutral indifference to a cold mask in an instant.

"If I were you, Tommy." He told his friend darkly. "I'd just be glad you're alive."

At Oliver's words, Tommy lowered his drink as the same fear of Oliver he'd felt during their talk about Thea returned.

"What happened to you three on that island?" he asked shakily

Neither Oliver, nor Sara answered. Instead, it was Nyssa who spoke up. "A lot, Mr Merlyn. A lot."

Their work done for the night and their mission accomplished, the three turned away and headed for the exit, leaving Tommy alone with his thoughts. Slade joined them a moment later.

"So it was a success?" He asked.

"It was." Oliver nodded coldly. "The transmitter is in place, the transactions should be complete tomorrow."

"Good." Slade said simply. "So what now, back to base?"

Oliver was about to answer, when suddenly he stopped. "You three go ahead." He told them, remembering something. "My work isn't finished for the night."

Although concerned, all three knew from his tone not to question him, so instead they nodded their agreeance and, with a parting kiss on his cheek from Sara, they went their separate ways.

…

Thea Queen wandered aimlessly through the streets of Starling City, lost in her own thoughts.

She knew she should have called a cab to take her home, or better still, one of her family's personal butlers, but she hadn't, and now she was starting to regret it. In fact, she was regretting every decision she had made that night.

She hadn't wanted to go out. Socialising wasn't something she had done in years, except at family functions and even then only under the urging of her mother. It was the simple fact that her brother was back, and she wanted to be around him as much as possible and, if she was honest, she wanted to show him that she was grown up too.

She hadn't wanted the drugs. Instead they had been forced on her by some girls she had used to know from school, telling her she needed to lighten up. She'd taken them only to get the girls to leave her alone, fully intent on throwing them away as soon as possible, but instead her brother – the whole reason she was there in the first place – had caught her, and told her off.

She felt hurt and betrayed. The worst thing was that he hadn't listened to her or even attempted to understand. She felt _discarded._ By the person she cared the most about.

All too familiar thoughts of self hatred welled up within her, quickly overwhelming her. So lost in her thoughts was she that she didn't even realise she was being followed.

The group watched her closely, eyeing their prize. It wasn't often that women ventured alone into this part of the city, let alone ones as young and good looking as this one. Oh how they would have some fun with her.

They waited, following from a distance, letting her isolate herself more and more, until she was far enough away from any potential witnesses. And then they struck.

Thea was pulled from her thoughts when she noticed someone in front of her. Instinctually crossing her arms in front of her body, she made to walk around the man, only for him to suddenly turn and grab her, quickly shoving his hand over her mouth to prevent her from screaming.

Thea fought and struggled, kicking wildly, but it was of no use as the man easily hefted her feather-light weight and shoved her hard up against a brick wall, hidden in shadow. It was then that she realised he wasn't alone.

There were three of them. All large. All terrifying. All positively drooling over her.

"Please…" she whimpered, "Just let me go. I- I have money-"

The leader smiled, revealing hideous crooked yellow teeth. His breath reeked of alcohol. "We don't want your money girly." He said lasciviously, and Thea's terror became extreme when he reached under her dress.

Suddenly though, he jolted, and Thea felt a warm liquid spray over her face. The man gasped, and she cracked one of her eyes open only to scream.

The man's left eye was _gone._ Completely missing, and in its place was a green tipped arrow.

Jerking spasmodically as life left him, the man holding her collapsed, while the other two shouted out in rage and began looking from side to side. It was then that Thea saw the shadow, and the remaining rapists found themselves under attack not from the side, but from _above._

She saw a figure dressed in black leap from the roof above her, and then the real horror began.

It had not taken long for Oliver to find his sister. The tiny tracking beacon he had placed on her at the party took care of that. Instead of heading home like he had told her, she had instead wandered into the heart of the Glades – not a place for a someone like her. He'd wasted no time in tracking her, and what he saw when he found her filled him with rage.

His League training did nothing to quell the pure fury that filled him when he saw the men about to defile his sister. Taking action immediately and firing an arrow straight into the brain of the leader, he then drew the sword next to his quiver and leapt down, unleashing his revenge in brutal fashion

He landed on top of one of the men, cushioning his fall before swiping his sword across the other's groin. The thug screamed hideously as his manhood was removed with a single swipe, before being silenced as Oliver jammed his sword through his throat, leaving him to suffocate on his own blood.

He let out an animalistic snarl as he set his sights on the man still pinned beneath him. He stomped on his throat, crushing his larynx, before drawing a final arrow and firing it directly into his heart, killing him instantly.

Breathing heavily, not out of exertion but from sheer anger, he stood and turned towards Thea, who was cowering on the ground beside the wall, curled up in a ball in a meek attempt at protecting herself and whimpering in fear.

Oliver felt his heart shatter.

She jumped when he put his hand on her shoulder. "No.. please…" she whispered, her eyes tightly shut.

"It's okay, Miss Queen." Oliver said, struggling to keep his voice from breaking. "They're not going to hurt you. You're safe."

Slowly, Thea opened her eyes, and flinched at the dark hooded figure in front of her, however something in the tone of his voice made her feel safe, like she could trust him. She looked behind him, at the bodies strewn across the ground. She ran her eyes from from their feet, to their legs, to their torso's-

"No, don't look at them." Oliver said, gently moving her head away from the mutilated corpses. "They got what they deserved, that's all you need to know."

Thea looked at him, her mascara was running wildly and she looked utterly terrified. Even though he was behind his hood and mask, Oliver couldn't help but feel exposed. "Thank you…" she whispered.

"Go home, Miss Queen." He said quietly, but firmly, "These streets are not to be wandered alone."

"But what if more come?" she asked desperately.

Oliver thought for a moment, before reaching down and pulling something from his utility belt. It was a five sided shuriken, black as midnight and deathly sharp.

"Use that." He said bluntly, tossing it to her. It landed at her feet with a metallic _'clink'_

Thea looked down to examine the wicked looking star shaped weapon. Picking it up, she looked up to thank her saviour, only for her words to die in his throat.

The hooded man was gone.

…

Later that night, the four assassins were gathered around the screen of one of the computers in their lair, watching as forty million dollars was transferred from the account of one Adam Hunt, split and reimbursed into the accounts he had previously swindled from – all courtesy of the tiny transmitter Oliver had hidden in the mans desk earlier.

He felt his mouth twitch into a slight, emotionless smile as, one by one, the transfers were completed.

"Good work tonight you two." Nyssa said, putting an arm around each of their shoulders and pulling them close.

"There's many more names on the list." Oliver said blankly, still distracted by what had happened to his sister.

"The journey of a thousand miles, begin with a single step." Nyssa quoted, as she grabbed something from Oliver's crate. A small, weatherbeaten notebook.

"Laozi…" Oliver murmured, remembering the last time he had heard those words.

"I thought it was Confucious?" Slade said knowingly.

"Shut up." Oliver growled at him as he took the notebook from Nyssa.

Flicking through the pages, he found the name 'Adam Hunt', and drew a line through it.

Closing the notebook, he turned and looked at the other three.

"Every last one of them will wish we had died on that island."

…

 _To say it was a relief to see the plane had been an understatement._

 _The journey had been long, and torturously silent. Oliver, Sara and Slade had kept to themselves, the events of the_ Amazo _playing over and over in their heads._

 _The group – together, yet distinctly separate – stumbled mindlessly towards the plane and collapsed inside it._

 _Sara passed out almost instantly, utterly exhausted from her ordeal. Oliver sat next to her, running his fingers through her tangled blonde hair. His body burnt with pain and ached for rest, but he refused to let his eyes close._

 _For as long as it took, he would stay awake and guard the woman beside him._

 _His reason for doing so walked back in, a bundle of wood held in his heavily muscled arms. Oliver watched as he silently built a frame of kindling and lit a fire with that same damn lighter. It had been something of a ritual between them, but the way the man went about it was almost mechanical._

 _Oliver watched his face closely as it slowly illuminated in the orange light. The madness was gone, replaced by a gaunt, haunted look as the Australian stared deeply into the flames. Oliver wanted to trust him – he had saved his life after all – but after everything that had happened, he simply couldn't._

 _So there they stayed, looking into the flames, as if using them as an excuse the escape the horrors they had inflicted on each other._

" _I'm sorry."_

 _The words were so sudden, and so quiet that Oliver almost missed them. "What?" he spoke, his voice dry and raspy._

" _I'm sorry kid, for everything." Slade repeated, raising his head and looking Oliver in the eye for the first time, and the younger man was stunned by what he saw. Grief. Pure, genuine grief flooded the man's features, twisting his usually stern expression into one of agony. In the year that he had known him, Oliver had never seen him look this way._

" _Do you… do you remember anything?" he asked hesitantly._

 _Slade sniffed. "I remember everything…"_

 _Oliver couldn't help but feel sorry for the man. Only hours ago he was fearing for his life but now… now all he wanted to do was help his friend, his brother. When he saw the silent tears rolling down the Australian's face, he knew he had to do something._

 _He painfully got to his feet, and walked over to join Slade by the fire. It was too hot, and the floor hurt to sit on, but Oliver didn't care._

" _Its okay, Slade." He began, not entirely sure what to say._

" _No, it's not okay." Slade shook his head. "I tortured you kid, tried to kill you!" he clutched his head tightly as the memories ran through his mind. Each one worse than the last. The people he'd killed, the friends he'd hurt, and worst of all, the red haze of the so called 'miracle' hanging over everything._

" _Slade, listen to me." Oliver said seriously, placing his hand on the man's shoulder, causing him to look up and meet his eye. "It was the mirakuru."_

" _No-"_

" _Yes it was." Oliver said firmly. "Because the Slade I know would not have done those things. The Slade I know is not a monster. The Slade I know wouldn't have tortured those people and tried to kill me." He paused. "The Slade I know saved my life."_

 _Slade looked stunned by the sincerity of his words. Heart to heart talks weren't exactly something they engaged in. He wanted desperately to believe that what Oliver was saying was true, but he just couldn't get the image of his hands around the former billionaire's throat out of his head._

" _You should have killed me…" he murmured, dropping his head once more._

" _Do you know why I didn't?" Oliver asked._

 _He waited for Slade to lift his head before continuing. "Because I believed in you, the same way you believed in that stupid kid you trained. I wouldn't be who I am today if it weren't for you. Sure you can be a grumpy bastard most of the time, but I wouldn't be alive if it weren't for you._

 _I chose to save you because you are my friend, Slade. I'm not saying I forgive you, not yet. But I'm willing to work towards it if you are."_

 _Oliver waited for Slade to respond, but got nothing._

" _You said we were brothers." He said seriously, looking him dead in the eye. "I still believe that. Do you?"_

" _Kid, I-"_

 _Slade's response was cut short, however, when the roof of the plane caved in, and in an ironic replay of their first encounter, Oliver and Slade found themselves face to face with someone they had never met before._

 _Someone with a bow and arrow in hand, and a seriously pissed off look on their face._

" _Who the hell are you?" Oliver said rashly as he and Slade jumped up._

 _The woman flicked her eyes between the two. When she spoke, her voice was smooth as silk._

" _I am Nyssa, daughter of Ra's Al Ghul, Heir to the Demon"_

…

The moon shone brightly through the open curtains of the room, but they did little to lighten Thea Queen's mood.

She was still in shock from what had happened - and nearly happened – to her, she was tired and alone, her brother still hadn't returned.

She was outright desolate.

In her hands she still held the throwing star given to her by the vigilante. Absently, she twisted it over and over in her hand, before bringing it up in front of her face. Tears fell down her cheeks as her thoughts continued to control her actions

Screaming a silent scream, she tore off her expensive dress, leaving her arms bare.

She lowered the blade.

And ran its razor edge across her skin.

…

On the other side of town, hidden from the rest of the world, another man was sat at another computer.

On the screen were pictures of Oliver, Sara, Nyssa and Slade, however this man was not known to any of them.

He had spent two days cross referencing information, checking databases and hacking into a few illegal sites, trying to make some sort of connection, but so far his search had come up blank.

He growled in frustration and slammed his fist down on the ornate wooden bench, before resetting the system, adding in a new search criteria, and running the program again.

And this time the computer beeped.

The man instantly jumped to attention, hurriedly clicking through screens, eager to see what connection the computer had made.

His search led him to a classified Australian Government server, one that listed terminated ASIS missions.

Clicking the link, the man scanned through the report.

When he read the words _Slade Wilson_ and _Lian Yu_ he grinned.

 _Finally_

He instantly reached for his phone, and dialled a pre-set number. It rang a few times before being answered.

"Mrs Queen, its Wolfman-"

That was all he said though, for it was at that moment that an arrow exploded out of his head, rendering him speechless.

The phone dropped from his hand as Marcus Wolfman – already dead – slumped over his desk, revealing his killers:

Two figures – one half the height of the other – adorned in white hoods

Wolfman's knowledge died with him, because the call was quickly disconnected, the file erased, and the office burned to the ground, leaving no trace of the hooded culprits

 **And so we come to the end of episode 1. These chapters are going into more details than I originally had planned, but I'm kind of liking it. It allows me to make more subtle changes. Of course, I'm not going to cover every single scene, only the ones that I feel matter, and as the story goes on and the plot diverges, expect these to be less frequent.**

 **Hopefully this chapter answered some more questions regarding various characters. Like I said, virtually none of them are like they are in the show – Thea is a prime example in this chapter. On that note, the reason Oliver is so cold to her is because he has spent five years on an Island and in the League of Assassins. He doesn't know empathy outside of the four of them.**

 **Hope you enjoyed it, please feel free to leave a review letting me know what you think, and who you think the white hooded figures are, and stay tuned for the next one.**


	8. tension

He liked to fuck girls from behind, thrusting wildly and leaving heavy red marks from abusive spanks. The cries and shrieks were like music to his ears, and the younger and tighter the better. He loved the barely legal ones with pert, full little bottoms.

Jamieson Taylor's career had seen better days.

Once regarded as an up and coming prodigy in the business world – a 'tycoon of the future' the papers had said – he had made the mistake of falling for his own hubris, and in his arrogance had invested in the wrong companies, put his faith in industries that were now largely irrelevant, and as a result his wealth was decimated, fractured to the point where his only way of clinging on to his finances – apart from his mysterious benefactor – was through threats, bribes and outright lies.

He released his anger in two forms: alcohol and abusing women. Often both at the same time. Many of Starling City's upmarket prostitutes had fallen victim to his promises of massive pay checks, only to be left broken and penniless.

His latest victim had no idea of such a history. She was new to the scene, forced onto the streets by an ever declining economy and resigned to selling her body just to survive.

He picked her up in his outdated 1998 Rolls Royce Seraph, lured her with a fistful of dollars – enough to last her a year he said – and was practically rubbing his hands together with delight on the way back to his apartment.

The moment she walked nervously through the front door, he grabbed her forcefully by the throat and pinned her against the wall.

He was instantly hard at the panicked look in her eyes, and was in the process of unzipping his pants when suddenly the front of his chest exploded in blood. The prostitute's scream was drowned out by his agonised howl at the sight of the shiny silver sword poking out of his chest.

Hyperventilating, and with a sickening wheeze seeping from the wound in his chest signifying his lung had been punctured, he sank to his knees, revealing behind him a blonde woman dressed entirely in black, her face covered by a domino mask. In her hands were two swords of opposing colour. One was clean, unmarred silver, the other now stained red with the fallen businessman's blood.

The prostitute eyed the woman fearfully, terrified she would be next. She was stunned then, when she instead holstered her weapons smoothly, then gently took her by the hand and pulled her away from the groaning man.

"Go." The masked woman said softly. The prostitute didn't need to be told twice, and made to leave the room, but not before her saviour reached into the coat hung on the door and pulled from it the promised money, before placing it without hesitation into her hand.

The prostitute nodded tearfully at the other woman, before running from the apartment, leaving just the woman in black, and Jamieson Taylor.

Satisfied that there was no further danger, Sara's eyes hardened murderously as she turned back to her target. Yanking him roughly to his feet, she shoved him against the wall in an ironic reversal of roles.

"Jamieson Taylor, you have failed this city." She hissed at him, before grabbing his throat and pulling his face close to hers.

"And no woman will ever suffer at your hands again."

Taylor's body jolted as he was skewered with her twin swords once… twice… ten times… until the 'tycoon of the future' was lying motionless on the blood-stained carpet, his body riddled with seventeen stab wounds.

One for each girl he had put in the hospital.

…

They were a small group of freedom fighters. Tough, smart and tight-knit.

And they were angry. Furious, at a government once all powerful, now bent over backwards to foreign investors, refugees and those fucking queers.

In the years since their dishonourable discharge from the armed forces for assaulting a female superior, they'd operated in the shadows, carrying out covert hits on asylum shelters, foreign aid depots and even the odd political assassination. Anything to keep the useless democrats out of power and return the United States back to the Good Ol' Days.

The police were powerless to stop them. Sure, they knew the identities of the members, but as far as finding their headquarters and making arrests went, they could do nothing. The Freedom Fighters weren't just psychopathic, they were smart too. Fed intel by loyal contacts inside the military, they were able to constantly stay one step ahead of the feds, always shifting their base of operations, carrying out hits at random, leaving no evidence for the investigators to go on. As far as they were concerned, they were untouchable.

Until tonight.

Troy McConnall, leader of the Fighters, was loading up the final clips of ammunition for his Marine-issue M4A1 assault rifle, ready to take town a shipment of relief supplies to West Africa when suddenly the lights of his compound flickered.

Then they went out completely.

McConnall and his men had their guns locked and loaded in an instant, instincts on high alert. A moment later, the emergency lighting kicked in, bathing the six gathered hitmen in eerie red light. The room itself however was oddly unchanged.

Except for one thing.

Standing in the doorway was a man in a black and orange facemask, with a katana in his hand.

The men didn't waste time asking questions. They brought their guns up and opened fire, but Slade was faster.

As the room exploded with gunfire, he ducked behind the solid steel door, but not before drawing two daggers from his waistbelt and hurling them with deathly accuracy into the chests of two of the men. Their Kevlar vests were useless against the wicked League-sharpened blades, and they let out simultaneous cries as they fell, blood pouring from their identical wounds.

McConnall's mind raced at the prospect of being targeted by one of the infamous vigilantes. Ignoring the pleas from his dying men, he quickly snatched two fragmentation grenades from a supply drawer, pulled the pins and hurled them through the open door.

He couldn't believe his eyes when the blade of the katana flashed past the frame, cleaving the fuse of one in half, rendering it useless before the masked vigilante reappeared, launched himself up and _kicked_ the other grenade in mid-air, sending it right back to where it came from.

McConnall reacted just in time, diving behind a bench to shield himself. His remaining men weren't so lucky. The grenade exploded, turning one into pulp and sending a thousand tiny metal shards into the other two, shredding the skin from their exposed faces down to the bone. They died screaming in agony.

McConnall peered around from his hiding spot, saw his entire team dead and mutilated. Saw the masked man stalking towards him. He bellowed an infuriated battle cry, snatched his M4 off the ground, levelled it on his attacker and opened fire.

The bullets did nothing. Slade didn't so much as _flinch_ as the puny rounds bounced harmlessly off his League armour. He just kept moving forward, katana held menacingly in his right hand.

When his gun clicked dry, McConnell swore, then cut his losses, drew his own knife and charged at the vigilante.

The fight was brief and brutal.

Slade allowed the man a few wild slashes, before calmly slicing his hand off, plucking the dagger from the air as it fell, and jamming it into McConnall's windpipe.

Leaving the bastard to fall and choke on his own blood, Slade glanced around at the destruction, shrugged nonchalantly and left the building, having achieved in one minute what the police had failed to do in four years.

…

Of all the scum she had ever had to deal with, Nyssa hated human traffickers the most.

They way they so casually traded human beings, sent innocent people – most often women and children – into the most cruel, vile lives imaginable filled her with fury like no other.

She had tracked these ones from the centre of the Glades to the bay, towing a shipping container filled with their kidnapped victims. Even from inside the rusty old container, she could hear their screams. Luckily, the kidnappers weren't Russian – she had special instructions from Oliver on what to do if that was the case – rather a local gang of 'snatchers' eager to make a buck.

Well… it was lucky for her…

Not so much for them.

She waited in the shadows of the dockyard as they hoisted the container off their flatbed truck, waited still as they cranked it open to show their buyer what was inside. Then, finally, once the payment had been made, the container loaded onto a small ferry and both sides had dropped their guard, she struck.

Leaping from her perch atop another container, she fired _three_ arrows simultaneously into the throats of the men guarding the cargo as she dropped. Upon landing, another found its mark between the eyes of the ship's captain while a final, special arrow was fired into the engines, detonating and rendering them useless.

All before any of the criminals could react.

By the time the shock wore off and they finally realised what was going on, their weapons had already been relieved courtesy of a barrage of shuriken throwing knives and they were now face to face with the red-hooded vigilante, who had dropped her bow and drawn the glittering gold-hilted short sword at her hip.

What followed was a bloodbath.

Nyssa killed like a force of nature, without hesitation and without mercy. One by one the traffickers dropped. Those who died instantly were the lucky ones. Others were dismembered and left to bleed out. Nyssa did not care. She _wanted_ them to suffer, wanted them to experience the terror their victims felt.

When the last man fell, his stomach sliced completely open, Nyssa gathered her discarded bow, wiped the blade of her sword meticulously on one of the dead men's clothes, then made a beeline for the container. Taking a moment to compose herself, she cranked the doors open.

The people locked inside – all women – screamed when the floodlights of the dock streamed in, but they didn't see the cruel faces of their kidnappers. In fact, they saw nothing at all.

Cautiously, they edged their way forward, the lure of escape overriding their fear of what could be outside. Finally, they gathered the courage to leave, only to stop in their tracks at the sight that lay outside their prison.

Bodies lay strewn all across the dockyard, some with arrows sticking out of their necks, others still bleeding from amputated limbs. Each and every one of them was dead.

Not stopping to consider the savagery of the massacre, the women took their chance and fled from the docks to return to the safety of their homes and families.

None of them noticed the woman in the red and black hood watching over them from afar.

…

"Who's that? Where did he come from?" The bodyguards exclaimed in shock at the appearance of the man in the green hood.

Urging their client to stay back, three of them advanced on the vigilante. One of them was dropped instantly, courtesy of an arrow to the chest. The other two did not last much longer.

Weaponless, they engaged their assailant hand-to-hand, and were immediately dispatched when the vigilante intercepted one's fist, then yanked the man into the path of the other. The punch connected and the first bodyguard dropped, out cold. The second paid dearly for his distraction, and was yanked around into the path of the bullets fired by the remaining bodyguards.

Jolting under the fire, he was left to bleed out as the vigilante advanced on the remaining men.

One's gun was already empty, while the other was rendered useless by an arrow shot straight down the barrel. The vigilante then sprinted at them, dropping one with a flechette through the leg before leaping at the final bodyguard, wrapping his legs around his throat, jack-knifing sideways and snapping the man's neck before landing back on his feet, all in one smooth movement.

The first bodyguard was felled for good when the vigilante ruthlessly smashed the bridge of his bow into his face, the brass guard splintering bone, leaving only his target.

"No! No, please wait!" Marcus Redman begged.

His cries fell on deaf ears. Having waited until the helicopter was unable to return to take down the bodyguards, Oliver grabbed the man and threw him onto the roof of the next building, next to an exhaust vent.

The snap of his arm was ignored as Oliver leapt down next to him and stomped on the protective cover of the fan. He then grabbed the still-pleading Redman and forced his face down to the rapidly spinning blades.

"Marcus Redman. You have failed this city." Oliver growled, "The cell phone in your inside pocket, call your partner, tell him to give those pensioners back their money!"

When the coward continued to beg for his life, Oliver simply moved him closer to the blades, until the skin of his nose was sliced off.

"Okay!" the terrified man screamed, "Okay!"

Oliver immediately relented, rolling Redman off the exhaust vent and onto the roof, where he held him down with his foot until the call was made and the money returned.

Sighing in relief – and dread, at what would happen to him once the man he served found out – Redman rolled over and looked up at the vigilante.

"Who- who are you?" he whispered through his tears.

The vigilante scowled at him. "I'm the man who's going to save this city."

The last thing Redman saw was his boot coming down on his face.

Oliver turned away from the unconscious businessman and activated the tiny radio in his ear.

"Mission successful." He said simply, before flicking the radio off and vanishing into the night.

…

It was in the early hours of the morning when Oliver returned to the foundry. Descending the stairs to get changed, he found Slade still awake, cleaning and polishing his treasured daggers.

"Always the last to arrive…" The Australian smirked at the appearance of the younger man.

Oliver shook his head good-naturedly. "I'm glad you're still awake Slade. I need some replacement arrows, the old ones are still stuck in some bodyguards."

He laughed at the scowl that suddenly appeared on Slade's face as he placed his bow gently back into his crate, before fetching the list.

Smiling when he saw Jamieson Taylor's name already crossed off, he flipped through the pages until he found Marcus Redman, and drew a line through that too.

"I take it we were all successful?" He asked as he joined Slade in cleaning his weapons.

"That we were kid." Slade replied, not looking up from his task.

"Sara and Nyssa?"

Slade jerked his head to the side of the room, Oliver followed and couldn't help but smile at the sight of the two women fast asleep, curled up next to each other on the makeshift cot at the back wall.

"If you're thinking of joining them, can you get me a blindfold first." Slade mumbled beside him.

Oliver snuffed a laugh. "Still haven't forgotten that time in France I see."

Slade groaned. "Believe me, there's nothing I'd like to do more…"

A comfortable silence descended on the two men as they reminisced the memories that had accumulated over the years, some good, some bad. Regardless, everything that had happened had brought them to this moment, and neither man needed to voice that they wouldn't have changed a thing.

Such moments between them were few and far between. Times like this one, when it was just the two of them were rare, and equally savoured by both. As much as the other two were a part of their lives, both Oliver and Slade still remembered a time when it was just the two of them, fighting to survive on an island in the South China Sea.

Eventually, Slade broke the silence.

"Oliver, we need to talk."

Oliver looked up from sharpening the last of his flechettes and regarded Slade quizzically. The older man only used his name when he was being serious.

"Your mother."

Oliver winced. "She's becoming too much of a problem. You said she wouldn't care about what you did when we returned-"

"I know, I know!" Oliver interrupted him tensely, before rubbing the sides of his nose with his hands and exhaling loudly. "I didn't expect her to be this overbearing, and I certainly didn't expect her to hire a bodyguard for me. I'm trying to think of what could have changed while I was… gone… but nothing makes sense."

Slade was silent for a moment, letting Oliver work through his thoughts. "Well kid, we have to do something, or else this mission is going to become a lot more difficult."

Looking down at the ground, Oliver nodded mutely.

Recognising the man's fatigue and mental strain, Slade let the subject go, and instead holstered his weapons. Standing up, he clapped Oliver on the back. "And I thought Nyssa had parental issues…"

Oliver chuckled to himself as Slade headed for his own cot upstairs before his eyes came to rest on Nyssa and Sara. They were among the deadliest women in the world, but asleep as they were, arms wrapped around each other, black hair entwining easily with blonde, they simply looked pure and peaceful.

Not prepared to interrupt that peace, Oliver decided against joining them, and instead dragged one of the training mats aside. As he lay down and closed his eyes, his head was full of images, thoughts of what new challenges the coming day would bring.

…

"You've gotta be kidding me!" Quentin Lance exclaimed as he stared open mouthed at the billboard in the middle of the police precinct. Coffee dripped down its front, having been spat out of Lance's mouth when he saw the headline affixed to it.

"They actually did it…" he muttered in disbelief… "They took down the goddamn Freedom Fighters."

"It appears they did." His Lieutenant, Pike said as he came up alongside him.

"We've been trying to get them for years…"

"And they've done it in a month, I know." Pike said dryly, moving in front of Lance. "And that's not all they did."

Lance scanned over the rest of the report, not believing what he was reading.

 _Jamieson Taylor murdered…_

 _Traffickers massacred…_

 _Marcus Redman exposed…_

All in one night.

In all his years in the SCPD, from a regular beat cop to a detective, Quentin Lance had never seen anything like it. _These vigilantes were something else…_

"I'm glad you're here." Pike interrupted his racing thoughts. "We've got a meeting in five."

Lance didn't reply. He just tried to take a sip from his now-empty coffee mug.

…

Ten minutes later found Lance and a refilled mug standing in front of the assembled group of officers. It was a large group, very large. In fact, every available member of the force was gathered, something that very rarely occurred.

Beside him was another billboard, this one covered in an array of news articles that had accumulated over the past month. At its centre was a sketch of each of the four vigilantes, drawn from what few eye-witness accounts there were. Even in pencil the four looked menacing.

Satisfied that everyone was there, Lance cleared his throat and the crowd fell silent.

"Ladies and Gentlemen, by now I'm sure you're all aware of why you're here today."

The officers did indeed know why, but none dared voice their worries.

Nodding solemnly, Lance turned to the billboard. "For the last month, these four vigilantes have been terrorising our streets, and in that time, we have gotten no closer to catching them. They target who they want, when they want.

Now until recently, they've only been targeting other criminals, but that all changed last week when they stole forty million dollars from Adam Hunt. Then last night, we learned Marcus Redmond had been forced to return money stolen from the Halcyon Pension Plan."

Lance was then interrupted by a raised hand from one of the officers. "Yes?"

"Sir, with all due respect." The man began nervously, "Both Hunt's and Redman's wealth was illegal. The small-crime rate has dropped since they've become active. That suggests to me that they're trying to make a difference. Maybe we should let them?"

Lance narrowed his eyes at the young officer. "Let me tell you why that's a bad idea." He lowered his voice as he walked slowly over.

"They may be making a difference, but they're breaking the law to do it. Small crime rate has dropped but what about the murder rate? That's increased tenfold since they've started their little crusade. These vigilantes don't play by the law to 'make a difference'. They make their own rules, turn themselves into judge, jury and executioner. If we start advertising these guys as heroes, that's a very dangerous message we're sending to everyone else, that vigilantism is okay."

He paused.

"And what happens when they run out of criminals to target? You just think they'll stop? No… they'll turn on us, and start targeting innocents. Because people who kill like that only do so for one reason: they enjoy it.

I know Hunt and Redman aren't exactly model citizens, but how long until it is? How long until its us? How long until its our families?"

The officer receded back into his seat as Lance came to a stop in front of him.

"How long until it's you?"

Lance looked at the man long and hard, until he was confident his message had been understood, before he turned and walked back to the front.

"And that is what I want you all to understand." He addressed them all. "We have had four attacks just last night. All separate, no connections between the victims in any way, except for one: They were each murdered by one of these psychopaths.

They have no pattern, no motive, they just kill. They are either insane, or the most professional group of killers this country has ever seen, or very possibly both. I've called you here today because I need to ask each and every one of you the same question:

Do we have any ideas on how to catch these nutjobs?"

Not a single officer spoke up.

Lance licked his lips and sighed. "Well then Ladies and Gentlemen, we'd better come up with something soon, or we're going to have to call in the big guns."

…

"Oliver Queen!"

The news report on the tv was drowned out by Moira's anger. "I thought I told you not to go anywhere without Mr Diggle!" she chided him upon his return to the mansion.

"And you did." Oliver replied casually as he walked into the living room, Nyssa, Sara and Slade in tow. "I just chose not to listen."

"Well then listen to this." Moira said, grabbing the remote and turning the volume up.

Oliver flicked his eyes to the screen.

" _-the forth attack last night was on Mr Marcus Redmond, who claims he was forced to return thirty million dollars to the Halcyon pension plan, money which he says he had always planned on refunding, however some sources suggest this would not have been the case without being coerced by one of the vigilantes."_

"These guys? Again?" Oliver dismissed. "Mom, they saved my life-"

"No they didn't, Oliver!" Moira shouted at him. "They killed your kidnappers, there's a difference!"

Oliver was silent. His mother had never shouted at him. Never. He glanced at Sara beside him, her own surprise evident. Out of sight, she grabbed his hand in support.

"You may think I'm being overprotective, Oliver, but the reality is that this city is not the same as it was when you left." Moira continued sternly. "Things are different now, people aren't safe anymore, especially the rich if this is anything to go by."

"What's wrong?" Oliver challenged, "Are you afraid we're going to be next?"

"Yes I am." Moira replied bluntly. "And you should be too."

Oliver held his mother's glare, before the tension was broken by Walter somewhat awkwardly clearing his throat.

"I think what your mother is trying to say is that she doesn't like you being out at night when these vigilantes are active." He said, trying to calm things down. "She worries about you. Given we all thought you dead for five years, I hope you can understand this." He implored.

Oliver took a deep breath, but held his tongue and instead offered the man a simple nod.

"Good." Walter said simply. "Now do you or Sara have any questions about today?"

"I'm fine thanks, Walter, I've been to court before."

"Yeah, four times by my estimate." Everyone turned as Tommy made himself known. "There was the DUI, the assault on that paparazzi douchebag, stealing the taxi – which was awesome, by the way, and who could forget peeing on the cop."

"I wish everyone would." Moira muttered.

Oliver meanwhile was silent. He caught Nyssa looking at him with her signature raised eyebrow, while behind him he could just tell that Slade was struggling to hold in his laughter.

"Can we go, please." Oliver asked, before Tommy could embarrass him any further.

Moira nodded, and the eight of them headed for the vehicles outside.

Oliver never noticed that Thea was nowhere to be seen.

…

Two years on a deserted Island, and a further three training under the deadliest man in the world did little to prepare Oliver and the others for the storm of paparazzi that was waiting for them outside the courtroom.

From the moment they pulled up, the car was practically swarmed by frenzied journalists bombarding them with questions about their time on the Island.

Slade found himself understanding why Oliver was arrested for punching one of the assholes, while Oliver himself was grateful for Diggle's presence for the first time, as the bodyguard led the way through the crowd. Only once they were inside and the doors locked behind them, sealing the mob out did Oliver breathe a sigh of relief.

They made their way quickly up the stairs to the courtroom where his and Sara's proof-of-life declarations were to be held. Oliver made to push the door open to go in, only to be stopped by his mother.

"What?" he asked impatiently.

Moira suddenly looked guilty. "I'm sorry, Oliver, but Miss Raatko and Mr Wilson won't be able to come in."

Oliver looked at her in disbelief. "What are you talking about?"

"The rules with these sorts of personal hearings are clear. Only family and those associated with the original death-in-absentia files are permitted."

"Nyssa was rescued of the damn island with me!" Oliver flared. He could feel his nails digging into his palms as he fought to keep his anger in check.

"It's fine." Nyssa spoke up, silencing the two Queens. Oliver looked at her questioningly. "Your mother is right, Oliver. My father has already dealt with my own files being cleared, this has nothing to do with me. Mr Wilson and I will wait outside, and we will meet you again once the proceedings are over."

Oliver looked like he wanted to argue, but a glare from Nyssa made him think better of it, so instead he took Sara's hand and angrily shoved the door open, before disappearing inside. The others soon followed, leaving just Nyssa and Slade in the empty corridor.

"Let's go." Nyssa said curtly, turning and walking briskly away from the door, not entirely happy herself about what had just happened. It was important that they were all together in situations like this, so that if needed, their stories about their rescue and such were identical.

"What are you smirking about?" she asked Slade as they walked.

"Oh, nothing." Slade replied, keeping his thoughts to himself

 _Peeing on a cop? I'll never let the kid forget this one…_

…

Twenty minutes later, Nyssa found herself in a small café close to the courtroom. Having snuck out a fire exit that was supposed to be closed to the public in order to avoid the reporters outside, she and Slade had resigned themselves to waiting for Oliver and Sara.

Slade didn't want anything to do with her suggestion of coffee ("What the bloody hell is a 'mochaccino'?") and had instead decided to make his way back to the foundry on foot, leaving her on her own.

Although she was developing major issues with Moira's controlling nature, in truth she didn't mind the time alone. She had never been to Starling City prior to this mission, and she was interested to learn more about the city that Oliver and Sara called home.

She sat by the window, silently observing the cars driving by, people and bicycles jostling for space on the sidewalks while news outlets, convenience stores and clothes retailers were all competing for sales. Modern capitalism such as this disgusted her. Money was a plague in her eyes. Sure, it could be useful, but only in the world as it was.

If her father had his way, things would be very different.

Lost in her thoughts, she wasn't entirely paying attention when her order was called, and as she walked back to her table with a milkshake in hand (thankfully without fries this time), she mistakenly collided with another body.

Everyone in the café jumped at the sound of smashing glass, and Nyssa felt a sharp pain shoot up her wrist as she was knocked to the ground.

"Oh my gosh, I'm so sorry!" the other person apologised frantically. Nyssa looked over to see another woman, with wavy brunette hair and warm chocolate eyes crouched beside her, having been also knocked over.

"It is fine." Nyssa reassured her. "I am equally to blame, are you alright?"

"Fine-" the woman began, only for her eyes to widen. Nyssa followed her line of sight and saw a shard of glass embedded in her wrist. After the pain she'd gone through in her life, she hadn't even noticed it.

"Let me get that out for you." The woman offered.

"Oh… it's nothing- Nyssa started.

"It's okay, I'm a doctor." The woman explained.

Not wanting to make any more of a scene, Nyssa acquiesced and the two waked over to an empty booth at the back of the café, out of sight of the employees cleaning up the spilt drinks.

The woman opened her handbag, pulling from it a small first aid kit, while Nyssa offered her wrist and allowed her to pull the glass out. Once it was free from her wrist, she looked up, only to find the doctor staring at her in disbelief. "You didn't even flinch…" she said, astonished.

Nyssa bit her lip. "Pain is inevitable. Suffering is optional." She quoted distantly.

The doctor looked concerned at such a statement, but didn't say anything as she covered the wound – which thankfully wasn't too deep – with an adhesive gauze, then wrapped a small bandage around her wrist just in case. Watching her work, Nyssa deduced that the woman was very good at her job, very caring, but also very shy and reserved.

"All done." The woman said once she was finished. "Just keep it covered for the next few days and you should be fine."

"Thank you." Nyssa said genuinely, before glancing at the watch on her other wrist. "Unfortunately I have to go, but it was very nice meeting you. I hope we can do so again, under better circumstances."

"Likewise." The woman returned softly.

Nyssa stood and made to leave, but something held her back. She turned around and extended her hand to the kindly woman. "Nyssa Raatko." She introduced herself

The woman returned the handshake with a small smile. "Caitlin Snow."

…

"Thank god that's over." Oliver groaned as he exited the courtroom. He cared little for such trivial, pointless affairs, and his anger at his mother was still simmering away under his skin. Sara had decided to spend the rest of the day with her father, who had managed to drag himself away from his work to be there, which is more than could be said of her sister. All in all he just wanted to find Nyssa and Slade and get the hell out of there.

"I couldn't agree more." Moira said cheerfully, oblivious to her son's demeanour, "Now, onto the office, everyone is waiting to meet you."

Oliver took his opportunity. "Actually, mom, that was a little bit heavier than I was expecting." He said quietly, "Can we do that tomorrow?"

Moira turned to face him, and he didn't miss the flash of suspicion that crossed her face, but in the end she agreed, and she and Walter went on ahead, leaving just him and Tommy.

"Still want no part in the family business I see?" Tommy joked as they descended a different set of stairs.

"Absolutely not. Why would I-"

Oliver was cut off when he rounded a corner and came face to face with the last person he expected to see.

Laurel Lance.

"Oh this is awkward…" Tommy mumbled, but neither paid any attention to him.

They were frozen still, eyes locked on each other for the first time in five years, dark brown on cool blue. Both unable to move, unable to blink, unable to breathe.

A thousand words raced through Oliver's mind at the same time. Explanations, apologies, excuses. All of them demanding to be voiced, but all of them dying in his throat, which suddenly felt drier than it had ever been.

He felt the beginnings of tears stinging his eyes as the guilt of what he had done, the pain he must have caused her came slamming down on him.

"Laurel-" he croaked. Then he immediately flinched when her hand came up and slapped him. Hard.

"Screw you, Oliver!" she hissed at him through clenched teeth. "Don't even say it. Don't even attempt to say you're sorry!" she glared at him, seeing him open his mouth.

"Okay, let's just calm down-" Tommy tried.

"There is _nothing_ you can say to me to make things right." Laurel ignored him. "You left me. I kissed you goodbye and you got on that damn yacht and left with my sister. We buried an empty grave, but I couldn't even grieve because I was so angry, that's what happens when you think your sister has died while screwing your boyfriend."

She didn't care about the look of hurt on Oliver's face. Didn't care about Sara and Nyssa's words of warning. All she knew was the years of hurt, anguish and raw fury that she had repressed inside her for five years that had just broken free at the sight of their cause.

"I _hate_ you, Oliver. I hope you know that." She told him, fighting back tears herself. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have to prosecute a billionaire who gets kicks out of ruining people's lives. You should compare notes sometime."

Neither Oliver nor Tommy had a chance to say anything as she shoved past them. The other two women she was with awkwardly followed. Tommy watched them go, only turning back to look at his friend once they were out of sight. What he saw shocked him.

Oliver was staring out into space, his eyes blank and his face twisted with agony. Silent tears left glistening trails down his cheeks, and his fists were clenched so tightly the knuckles were white.

Tommy was stunned. He'd never seen his best friend like this before. He'd seen some pretty bad break ups in his time but none of them compared to this, especially not if the look on Oliver's face was anything to go by. For a moment, Tommy didn't even recognise his best friend, and indeed he wasn't looking at him. He was looking at a man who'd just re-lived five years worth of guilt in one minute.

"C'mon buddy, shake it off." He tried, slapping Oliver's chest jokingly, but Oliver didn't move.

"Ollie, you alright?" Tommy asked, now genuinely concerned.

It was a long time before Oliver replied.

"No." he said simply.

Then, without saying another word, he walked past his friend and silently exited the building.

Tommy could only watch him go in confusion, before eventually returning to his senses and following his clearly-distressed friend. By the time he'd pushed the door open and walked outside however, it was already too late.

Oliver was nowhere to be seen.

…

"Martin Somers." Oliver growled upon returning to the foundry.

Nyssa and Slade both turned to face him. "Who?"

"Our next target. Martin Somers." Oliver repeated.

"Oh, great." Slade said sarcastically. "As opposed to Martin Winters, Or Martin Springs-"

"Are you going to help me or not?" Oliver raised his voice as he slammed his crate onto the bench, shaking the entire structure and dislodging dust from the ceiling.

Slade and Nyssa shared a concerned look. Even with his back to them, they could see how tense he was.

"Beloved, are you okay?"

When Oliver gave no reply, she pushed herself out of her seat and walked over to him. She wrapped her arms gently around his waist and leant forward, resting herself on his back. "Oliver?"

"I saw Laurel."

Nyssa stilled at his words as she remembered Laurel's thoughts on Oliver when she'd met the woman with Sara. No wonder he was upset.

"I see." She said cautiously after a moments pause, "What did she say-"

"She hates me." Oliver stood straight suddenly and pulled away from Nyssa's grip. Even Slade was quiet as he aimlessly wandered around the floor, finally coming to rest at the base of the salmon ladder.

"She said she hates me, and that I ruined her life." Oliver repeated, his voice shaky and weak. "And I did. I cheated on her, killed her sister, and then came back after five years to torment her."

"Oliver you didn't kill Sara-"

"I may as well have!" he flared, "In her eyes I did. And nothing can change that. Nothing can change who I was, and what I did to her. She told me she'll never forgive me, and that's good, because I don't deserve it." He bowed his head.

Nyssa sighed. She cared deeply for Oliver but he had moments of self hatred like this far too often for her liking, and not even the League had managed to train the guilt of his past out of him.

Choosing her words carefully, she placed her fingers under his chin and gently tilted his head up, forcing him to look at her.

"You're wrong, you know." She started. "You can change who you were, by being the person you are now."

"What, an assassin?" he said miserably.

"No." she told him firmly. "By being you."

Oliver simply looked at her dejectedly, so she continued.

"By being the man who brought Slade back to himself, by being the man who saved Sara from those awful, terrible men on the island, and by being the man who showed me how to love."

Oliver snorted dismissively.

"Oliver, the past doesn't define us, only who we were. The future can promise anything. What matters is which path we choose to focus on in the present. We can look forward to the future, or we can remain stuck in the past."

"We've all done things we're ashamed of, made choices we regret." Oliver flicked his eyes from Nyssa to Slade as the Australian spoke up. "I don't hate you for choosing Sara over Shado, kid. You don't hate Nyssa for choosing Sara over you. At the end of the day, like Nyssa said, its in the past. You three still love each other, and we're still brothers. That's all that matters."

Nyssa's hands on his cheeks brought his eyes back to hers. "The fact that you are feeling this way about her shows that you still care for her." She said softly. "In time, she'll see that too, you just have to show her."

Oliver squeezed his eyes tightly shut, and the other two could only watch as he visibly fought the emotions warring within him. Eventually, they opened again, and when they did the tears had vanished. Replaced by steely resolve and laser focus.

Nyssa grinned. "I'm glad you're back." She said. "Now, tell me more about this Martin Somers."

Oliver kissed her deeply, ignoring Slade's groan of disgust, before walking over to the computers, typing at the keyboard and bringing up a profile.

"Martin Somers-" He addressed the other two. "- Is one of the worst of Starling. Accused of taking bribes from the Chinese Triad to smuggle drugs into the city, currently on trial for murder."

"Who's the prosecutor?" Slade asked.

Oliver levelled his eyes on him. "Laurel Lance."

The room was silent for a moment as it suddenly sunk in why Oliver was so determined to take Somers down.

"Oliver…" Nyssa said cautiously. "You know we can't keep going after the same people as her. It will draw suspicion onto her."

"I know." Oliver told her. "But you told me to be myself and she'll come round. I think this is a good way to start."

* * *

 **I'm back! Thank you so much for the response to the previous chapter. A lot of you had some really cool theories on who the White Hoods might be, and unfortunately I can neither confirm nor deny anything, as they are one of several big surprises that I am keeping very close to my chest.**

 **That aside, I hope you enjoyed this chapter. It turned out a bit longer than anticipated, but I needed to enunciate several key points, and I had to do a fair bit of editing to fit everything in.**

 **I've had a number of questions about the roles both Diggle and Felicity are going to play. I have plans for both, though they will be vastly different to the show, especially regarding Felicity... Lets just say that I will be unable to finish this story until I've thought of a gruesome enough death for the single greatest ruination of what was once a good show.**

 **On that note, another character showed up in this chapter that you may not have been expecting. I've only watched the first season of the Flash but I absolutely fell in love with Caitlin Snow, and her introduction is no accident. Don't worry though, this story will not feature any 'meta powers' and will remain grounded in reality, or at least a realistic as it can be when a group of deadly assassins are involved.**

 **One last thing, I meant no offense with the 'queer' line. That was written simply from the point of view of the Freedom Fighters (who got what they deserved in my opinion), and I definitely do not agree personally with their view of the world.**

 **That's all for now, feel free to let me know what you think, and stay tuned for the next one**


	9. mistakes

**I'm back! I feel I'm perpetually apologising for the delay in chapters. I know how frustrating it can be when a story isn't updated for a while, and for that I am truly sorry. My life is pretty crazy and unfortunately I do still have other stories I'm prioritising, but I'm still steadily working away at this one, and as a result here is the next chapter, enjoy!**

"I'm so happy you were able to join us for dinner Sara." Quentin said as he pulled a slightly smoking casserole from his oven. "Your sister should be here any minute now."

"Thanks, daddy." Came her somewhat muted response.

Quentin paused at the hesitant tone in her voice and turned to observe his daughter.

She was sat in the same chair that had been her favourite five years previously, but she wasn't the giggling, carefree girl of yesteryear who he had told off more times than he could remember for having her elbows on the table. In her place was a hunched, taut, reserved woman who still shared his daughter's face and voice, but none of her exuberance.

"I mean it, Sara." He admitted quietly, "I can't tell you how many nights I sat here, staring at your seat, wondering if, you know… you would ever sit in it again…" His voice cracked at the end of the sentence.

Sara met his eye, before a flash of darkness crossed her face and she looked down at the table. "I'm sorry…" she trailed off

"Hey it's okay." Quentin was quick to put the dish down to cool before making his way over to her. Crouching down beside her, he gently took her hand and rubbed his thumb softly over the back of her palm. "I didn't mean it like that. I'm just happy you're back."

Sara smiled tightly but gave no response. Internally she was cursing herself. It was just dinner with her father! She had nothing to worry about, and she had been fine spending the afternoon with him after the courtroom hearing, but here, now, alone, she couldn't help feeling exposed and vulnerable. Two feelings she hated more than any other.

"Are you okay?" Quentin asked, concerned at his daughter's unfamiliar behaviour. "Do you want to talk about it? What happened there-"

"I'm fine daddy." She cut in suddenly, voice firm and harsh. Quentin's words of comfort died in his throat as she coldly withdrew her hand from his grasp and crossed her arms over her stomach.

He could only look at her in dismay, filled with abject sadness at what his daughter had become, what must have happened to her to change her personality so much. Most people wouldn't think much of it. Most people would just assume it was a side effect of being isolated on an island for five years.

But Quentin Lance wasn't most people.

He was one of the SCPD's most decorated detectives. His methods may not have been the most conventional, and his brash personality wasn't exactly the most endearing, but he was the best at what he did for one very good reason: He understood people.

He was very good at connecting the dots, looking past the first impression of a crime scene. He could _read_ people. He understood their behaviour, better than most.

He'd known something was wrong the moment she refused to hug him in the hospital, and the times he'd spent with her since her return – however brief they had been – had given him more than enough opportunity to realise there was a lot more to her than just a castaway survivor.

Like how she hardly ever spoke unless spoken to first, and even then her replies were brief and concise. Mechanical almost. And whenever she was asked about her time on the island, she danced around the topic, avoiding even the slightest detail in a way that somehow seemed completely believable.

Like how she averted her eyes every time anyone – friends and family included – so much as glanced at her, like she was something to be ashamed of in their eyes.

How she always dressed in loose, baggy clothes, a direct contrast to the short-shorts and tank tops of her college days.

And, most worryingly, how she almost never responded to her own name. Sow she almost always took a second or two to even realise someone was speaking to her, as if she weren't even aware that her name was still 'Sara'.

And there was more, too. Behavioural traits not entirely characteristic of a mere castaway.

She was skittish and jittery, even the slightest noise made her jump. Whenever she entered a new room, her eyes were constantly scanning, flicking from side to side, assessing everything. And once she was finished doing that, she found a way to simultaneously position herself as close to the exit as possible, while also remaining as far from the other occupants.

Perhaps most telling of all were the shadows that never truly seemed to leave her eyes, not even when she was with Oliver and Nyssa. There was something haunted in her icy blue irises, a sadness buried deep within her in a place most people wouldn't notice, let alone attempt to shed light on.

It broke Quentin's heart to see his daughter behave in such a way. She didn't act like someone who had been stuck on an island for five years. She acted like victims he'd seen who had been _kidnapped_ for five years.

' _Deep tissue damage on Sara's lower belly is indicative of an improvised caesarean…'_ the doctor's words echoed gravely in his ears, and Quentin found himself wondering not for the first time just what in God's name happened on that island. He clenched his jaw and pressed his tongue against his cheek, struggling to come up with what to say next, when suddenly the lock on the front door twisted, accompanied by the sound of jangling keys as the door swung open to reveal his other daughter.

"Hi dad." Laurel chirped brightly as she unslung her handbag and placed it on the coat rack, moving quickly to hug him.

Although he returned her hug, Quentin couldn't help but feel a little frustrated that he hadn't had more time alone with Sara. "Hey, sweetie, how was work?" he inquired somewhat sombrely.

Laurel let out an exhausted sigh. "Let's just say sometimes I regret my career path…" She brushed her slightly frazzled hair out of her eyes, "Who knew taking down criminal masterminds was such a pain in the butt."

"Tell me about it…" Quentin muttered as Laurel walked past. His attention on his older daughter, he missed Sara's eyes drop with guilt.

"Hi Sara! I'm so happy you could make it!" Laurel smiled, moving over to her sister. She declined to mention her run in with Oliver earlier that day, remembering well her sister's warning against hating the man. Words were one thing, when it came to actually _obeying_ them however… there was no way in hell she was able to move past what he had done.

"Well, here I am!" Sara said a little awkwardly, rising from her seat to meet Laurel's embrace. Quentin observed how quick she was to hug her sister, but still flinched at even his slightest touch.

"It smells great dad! What's for dinner?" Laurel enquired.

It took a second for Quentin to snap out of his concerns. "Wha- Oh! Uh… Chicken cacciatore… I think…"

Laurel let out a snort of laughter. "And here I was thinking you'd forgotten how to use an oven."

"Well you're not far off..." Her father replied dryly as he retrieved a set of plates and cutlery. He dished out a sizeable portion for each of them and in a few minutes the three Lances were eating together for the first time in five years.

Although she felt enough time had passed to drop the 'we only ate fish and berries on the island' façade, Sara still ate sombrely. For all the joy she shared with her family at being reunited, there was still a heavy silence that hung gloomily over the table. A certain timbre that just was not the same as it had been in the past.

And she knew exactly what it was.

"Dad…" she said quietly, placing her fork down, "What happened to mom?"

She knew, of course, but they didn't know that, and the topic was something she knew would have to come up eventually, but that didn't change the feeling of guilt that surged through her when her father's hands stilled, and he seemed to age a decade right before her eyes.

"Umm…" he responded, bringing a shaky hand up to anxiously cover his chin. She could see the painful memories build in his eyes as he took a deep breath to steady himself, "After you… disappeared… we all had to find ways to cope… I threw myself into my work, Laurel went to law school and your mother… well… she couldn't deal with it. Couldn't accept that you were gone."

He dropped his hand as he brought his eyes up to meet hers, "She truly believed you were still out there, somewhere. And Laurel and I… We didn't… In the end it drove too big a wedge between us. She packed her things and moved to Central City. We divorced three years ago."

As casually as he could, he quickly wiped the building water from his eyes in an effort to conceal his pain from his daughter, but Sara knew all too well what he was feeling. The regret, the guilt, the agony of losing something dear to you and never getting it back.

Next to her, Laurel was silent as Sara reached across the table, past the forgotten chicken and covered her father's tightly clenched fist with her own calloused palm. "I'm so sorry Daddy, this is all my fault…"

"No, baby, no." Quentin denied, refocussing on her, "Don't say that. What happened was on me."

Sara heard his words, but she didn't believe them. When she spoke, her voice was dull and sullen, "But if I hadn't have gone…"

She was about to reveal that her mother had caught her packing her things the day before the yacht set sail, and had yielded to her fantasy of 'following her heart', only to be interrupted by the sound of her father's phone ringing.

At the sound, Quentin immediately sobered, snapping into detective mode almost as an armour to keep his emotions hidden within. He turned in his seat and brought the phone to his ear. "Lance."

Meanwhile, Sara remained in her seat, hands fisted nervously in her lap. Apprehensively, she glanced at Laurel from the corner of her eye. The brunette was still, unnervingly still, her arms crossed in front of her body and her lips twisted in a look that even Sara couldn't decipher.

"I'm sorry Laurel." She said demurely, "I never meant to hurt you… any of you."

For a long time Laurel was still, before she bit her bottom lip and sighed heavily. "Yeah, that's what he tried to say too."

Sara frowned. "What?"

"I'm sorry girls." Quentin interrupted, standing suddenly and moving to retrieve his coat. "I just got a call from my Lieutenant. Laurel, it looks like my criminal mastermind is attacking yours. I have to go."

After hastily checking that he had his badge and gun, he gave an apologetic goodbye and hurriedly exited the room, leaving just the two Lance sisters.

After a moment, Sara turned to Laurel, "What do you mean 'he'-"

"I should probably go too." Laurel interrupted purposely, "If Somers is attacked, it makes my job a hell of a lot harder."

Although she wanted answers, Sara chose to hold her tongue as Laurel too gathered her belongings and left in the same rushed manner as her father had only a moment ago.

Sara looked down at the now-cold plate of chicken in front of her, now alone with nothing but her thoughts, her guilt, and five years worth of pain she had caused her family.

It all built up and as she heard her father's car drive off, she dropped her head into her hands and began to cry.

…

"Martin Somers!"

The businessman in question jerked back to consciousness at the sound of his name being shouted.

"Who the hell are you!" he shouted reflexively, but no answer came. It was then that he became aware of the rush of blood in his head and the fabric tied around his foot, suspending him in mid air.

And then he saw them.

Through the tie dangling in front of his face, he saw _them._

The vigilantes. Three of them – the two archers and the masked man with the sword. They stood about twenty feet away from him, weapons drawn and the unmoving body of one of his guards at their feet. The one in the middle – the one in the dark green hood – had an arrow aimed _directly_ at him. Subconsciously, he felt himself begin to hyperventilate.

"You have failed this city." The green one growled, the gravelly voice turning his blood to ice.

"No no no no…"

He was silenced by an arrow sailing past his head, purposely grazing the skin of his cheek.

"You're going to testify in that trial, you're going to confess to having Victor Nocenti killed." The archer growled. "There won't be a second warning." He proved his point by firing a second arrow, and Somers felt blood trickling down his other cheek.

His mind raced with fear, desperate for an escape. And in the midst of his terror, an idea presented itself. _The vigilantes weren't here to kill him_ he realised. _They needed him to confess._ That meant they needed him alive until at least the following night. And while he was still alive, he still had time. And he had very dangerous friends.

"So the Lance bitch put you up to this did she?" he raised his voice, drawing the attention of his captors. "She'll burn in hell with you then."

Oliver froze at the man's words. _He'd just threatened Laurel…_

The bastard had just poured gasoline on a fire, and Oliver's already simmering anger exploded. In an instant, his bow dropped from his hands and he drew the sword from his back.

" _Al Sah-him, that's enough!"_ he heard Nyssa hiss beside him in Arabic as he advanced, but he ignored her.

He stormed towards Somers, intent of gutting him where he hung. "WHAT?" he roared at the man, swinging the blade-

"Stand down kid!"

Oliver paused, his weapon barely grazing the hair on Somers' neck. His every muscle was clenched in rage, his arms shaking, his instincts screaming at him to cleave his target's head from his worthless shoulders, but the tone of Slade's voice made him stop.

Angrily, he whipped his head around to look at his mentor questioningly, only for Slade to subtly shake his head. " _Not here."_ he said, wisely following Nyssa and switching languages, _"We need him alive."_

Scowling, Oliver turned away from his fellow assassins back to Somers, whose eyes were wide with terror. His lip curled into a snarl, before he effortlessly flipped his weapon around and slammed the pommel into Somers' nose, knocking him out cold with a satisfying crack.

He turned away and walked back to the other two. He could sense their displeasure with his actions, but they chose not to voice it in their current location.

"Let's go." He growled unhappily, and the three vanished into the night just as the first police sirens came blaring in the distance.

…

Thirty minutes after getting the call alerting him to an attack at the docks, Quentin Lance found himself standing in front of a rather battered – and very pissed off – Martin Somers.

"Well, I owe you an apology, Mr Somers." He told the businessman, "We make the effort to come all the way down here to your docks, only to be told that you don't need our help after all."

"Which is exactly what I've been saying." Somers replied, not missing a beat.

Lance took a moment to observe the man sat in front of him. He knew for a fact that he wasn't telling the truth – The cuts on his cheeks and his poorly-disguised broken nose were proof of that. He also knew for a fact that the scumbag was lying in order to prevent the police snooping around his docks.

"I see…" he drawled, "So I guess that 911 call we got earlier from your stevedore saying that you've been attacked by the vigilantes…" he paused, running his fingers over a suspicious mark in Somers' desk, "That was some sort of practical joke?"

Somers flicked his eyes down to the notch in his desk and visibly tensed. "These guys like to fool around…"

Lance saw through his feeble lie instantly. "I'm sure they do… but you're a smart guy, you've seen the news reports. You know what these guys are capable of."

Somers flinched, but was quick to school his features. "You don't actually have any proof they were here though."

Lance paused at that. It was true, they didn't. And unless they did find a trace of the vigilantes, there was no way they were going to be able to search the area more extensively without a warrant. Something the corrupt courts system would never give. _God he hated red tape sometimes…_

It was then though that a young officer entered the room. "Sir…" he began nervously, walking up to Lance, "We found this on the eastern side of the port."

He handed him a plastic forensics bag, and Lance couldn't help but chuckle at what was inside it: A jet black arrow, its razor sharp tip still glistening with blood. Lance said nothing as he carefully extracted the projectile and placed it in the mark on the desk. It slotted in perfectly.

He turned his eyes back to Somers. "You were saying?"

Somers frowned darkly and looked down. When he looked back up his eyes were hard, angry. "Isn't this a conflict of interest, detective?" he said lowly, "Your daughter is suing me after all…"

"I'm pretty good at keeping my emotions in check." Lance rebuffed.

"Well I'm not." Somers spat as he stood up, tipping his chair backwards in the process. He crossed his arms as he advanced on the detective. "You and your daughter don't want to find out what I'm capable of when I get _emotional."_

Lance raised his eyebrows. "Is that a threat?"

Somers was silent, not expecting his bluff to be called.

"Because if it is, I've got a taser and a pair of handcuffs that will be used on you quicker than you can say 'honest upstanding businessman', and your next examination won't be by my daughter, it will be by the district attorney, you understand."

Somers glared at him, but his anger held little weight, not when the law was against him. "Perfectly." He ground out.

"Good." Lance said, "Now, I might not be able to charge you with drug smuggling, but I can detain you for withholding evidence, and for the obstruction of justice, so let's start again, and this time, think about your answer: Is there anything you can tell us to help with our investigation. Did you see anything, any marks, any features, did you hear anything that might give us a lead on these guys?"

Somers thought long and hard, but shook his head all the same.

Lance huffed in frustration. "Then I guess you didn't need our help after all." He told him, gathering the arrow and returning it to its evidence bag. "Have you heard of the Boy Who Cried Wolf? God help you if they come after you again."

He shook his head once more and turned to walk away at the utter waste of time this night had been. At least they finally had an arrow to study, although he didn't exactly like the forensics department's chances of getting anything from it.

"Wait!" Somers called, just as Lance was about to leave the room. Unseen, Lance sighed heavily and rolled his eyes before turning back around.

"I did hear something." Somers revealed, "The one with the sword said it, when he stopped the green guy from killing me."

Lance felt his breath catch. "Go on…"

Somers looked him in the eye for the first time.

"He said 'stand down kid.'"

…

Oliver was lucky not to tear the door to his room from its hinges as he slammed it angrily shut, shaking dust from the roof and sending a reverberating echo throughout the whole mansion.

It was the culmination of what had been an infuriating day. His meeting with Laurel, Somers' threat, the verbal lashing he'd received from Nyssa upon returning to the foundry, and finally, his mother's most recent interrogation as to why he kept ditching his unwanted bodyguard.

As someone with a notoriously short fuse in the League, Oliver was positively seething. The only thing stopping him from taking out his frustrations on various backstreet thugs was Nyssa forbidding him to suit up again that night.

So instead, Oliver had been resigned to returning home, while the other two stayed at the lair to plan ahead for any possible repercussions as a result of his loss of control at the docks.

Growling, he tore his jacket off and hurled it at the bed, expecting the satisfying _thud_ of the fabric colliding with the headboard. Instead, it was snatched from the air by a deft hand.

Oliver tensed at the sight of a shadowy figure intruding in his room – it wouldn't be the first time – only to relax again when he saw familiar blonde curls.

"Sara?" he exclaimed, confused, "What are you doing here? I thought you were with your father?"

The blonde gave no response, and when Oliver's eyes adjusted to the dim, moonlit room, he saw water shining in her azure irises.

"Are you okay?" he dropped his tone and made his way over to her. She again said nothing, and when she practically collapsed into him, he knew something was wrong. He gently wrapped his arms around her and let her bury her head into his chest. She was trembling.

"Hey…" he whispered, stroking her hair. "What's wrong? Talk to me…"

"It's all my fault, Ollie." She whimpered, "My parents divorced, my mother left, my father became an alcoholic, all because of me…"

Oliver sighed as he squeezed his eyes shut, his heart going out to her. He knew – they all knew – that Sara was going to be the one most affected by returning. He himself was struggling not to get overwhelmed by everything, so he couldn't imagine how she must have been feeling. All he could do was run his fingers through her hair and softly stroke her back.

"What's brought this on?" he asked gently.

Sara sniffed. "Laurel…"

Oliver couldn't help but tense at her name, given his own interaction with her earlier that day.

"She didn't say anything, but she implied it." Sara continued, "She blames me."

He let out a regretful chuckle as he tightened his arms around her. "I can guarantee you she blames me more."

At his words, Sara lifted her head to look at him. "How do you know?"

"I saw her today." He revealed, and Sara's eyes widened. "Outside the courtroom, after you left with your dad. She said she hates me…"

"She hates us both…" Sara said sadly, averting her eyes. Her rising anger at Laurel ignoring her words of warning, and not telling her she'd seen Oliver was immediately quashed by her returning despair.

"What are we going to be now, Ollie" she muttered miserably, "By night we're assassins, and by day we're strangers in our own bodies. Our own families don't recognise us. The people they knew died on that Island-"

"No we didn't." Oliver said, placing his hands on her cheeks. "We both lived. We kept each other alive, all four of us, for five years. We're a family of our own, and nothing can change that. The Island couldn't kill us, the League couldn't break us, and being back here won't change us. I love you Sara, Ta-er Al Sahfer, do you still believe that?"

Sara nodded. "Always."

Oliver cracked a rueful smile. "Then that's all that matters. Whatever else happens, whatever else our families might think, we still have each other, and we always will."

She didn't reply, but he could tell that she didn't fully believe him. Not knowing what else to do, he bent his head and pressed a soft kiss to her forehead.

Sara closed her eyes at the contact, relishing the feeling of Oliver's lips against her skin. There was a feeling she got deep within her whenever he kissed her, a resonance she had no idea how much she'd been craving until now. So when he started pulling away, she stood on her toes and captured his retreating lips with her own for a chaste moment before separating.

Stilling instantly, Oliver focussed on the woman in front of him, could easily make out the unspoken plea in her eyes. So he closed his eyes once more and returned her kiss, their lips meeting once… twice… thrice…

The contact tore a hole through the barriers around Sara's heart, and everything she'd kept tightly concealed since returned was released in an instant. Bringing a hand up to the back of his head and deepening the kiss, she opened herself up and let the sparks of emotion pour through her, purging her of her despair.

Her worries were banished to the back of her mind as she felt her fingers work autonomously at the buttons of his shirt. She heard Oliver's breathing quicken at the feather touches of her hands against his exposed torso, and a moment later she felt his own hands sneak beneath the back of her shirt.

Breaking for air, she raised her arms and allowed him to pull the garment over her head, before crashing their lips together once more and divesting him of his own.

She was vaguely aware that they were slowly shuffling backwards until she felt the edge of the bed pressing into the back of her knees, and they collapsed onto the mattress as one, entirely lost in each other.

As they rolled passionately against each other, the intensity of their kisses gradually dulled from fervent and needing, to slow, drawn out passion, their breath washing hotly over their faces and their hands running freely across exposed skin.

It was a strange, untouchable irony, how their actions were all but identical to those on that terrible night five years ago, when their lives had been changed forever by a freak storm, a sunken yacht and a small island in the South China Sea. Many times since then they had been together, but now, here, back in Starling, things had finally come full circle.

In those five years, so much had changed. Delicate beauty and carefree youthfulness had been replaced by jaded passion, hands which once caressed soft, perfect skin now ran over hard lines of tight muscle and rough, jagged scars, tactile echoes of their past.

But it was a past they had built together. Those five years had changed them, forged them into weapons. Blasé immaturity had given way to cold calculation, ignorance to discipline. The playboy and the college girl had become two of the most dangerous people on the planet.

But at their heart, their core, they were still Oliver Queen and Sara Lance. They still felt, they still bled, they still cared. Their shared scars told a tale of their lives, bared to each other in a way only they could, in a way not even Nyssa and Slade could understand. A tale of struggle, of pain and of loss. But most of all, a tale of love.

Everything they had been through, from the Island and the freighter, to life in the League of Assassins, they had survived it. Fate had willed them together, and the same furnace that melted their spirits had reforged them into something far, far stronger.

Individually, those five years had shattered them into pieces beyond repair. Separated, they were nothing, but together, those pieces coalesced, accreted into something new, something stronger.

They may have been broken, but at least they were broken together. And somehow, that was enough.

…

Oliver awoke the next morning refreshed, renewed, the tension of the previous day a distant memory as he stared at Sara, still fast asleep, snuggled tightly against him. It was a sight he never tired of, seeing her so unguarded and pure, entirely and uniquely _her._

He would have been content to stay that way all morning, were it not for the insistent buzzing of his phone reminding him that he was supposed to be accompanying his mother to Queen Consolidated that morning.

He slapped a palm to his forehead and groaned, really not wanting to get up, but in the end his rational judgement won out. The sooner this was over, the better.

Carefully extracting himself from Sara's grasp, he made his way to the bathroom and ran the shower. Cold, to focus his mind on the upcoming day.

Ten minutes later he emerged and began the arduous task of selecting which suit to wear for the occasion. It was a tiresome process, and although he would never admit it, he found himself empathising with Slade. For all his hatred of the outfits, at least the Australian had a suit that _fit._ All of his tuxedos were five years old…

Resigning himself to a day of discomfort, he pulled on the loosest pair of trousers he could find, and was trying to select a shirt when he heard soft footsteps behind him. Assuming them to be Sara's he carried on, only for a voice to speak up that _definitely_ wasn't Sara's

"Wait… How did you get those?"

Oliver spun around in shock to see Thea standing in his doorway, a stunned and slightly scared look on her face.

"Ever heard of knocking?" he said harshly as he attempted to cover his bare chest with a hastily grabbed shirt, but it was too late. Thea had already seen everything.

"No…" Thea said, moving towards him, "Mom said there were scars, but-"

As she approached, Oliver reflexively tried to back away, only for his back to bump hard up against the dresser. With nowhere to go, he was powerless to stop Thea from opening the front of his shirt and laying eyes on the true extent of the damage those five years had wrought.

The reaction was instant.

Oliver felt like he had been punched in the gut at the emotion that spread across his baby sister's face. Total, abstract horror twisted her delicate features, and a whimpered gasp escaped her lips before she clamped her hand over her mouth.

He bowed his head. While he himself was no longer ashamed of the marks adorning his body, he was resolute in keeping them hidden from those close to him, especially Thea. Of all people, she was the one he had never wanted to bear witness to the suffering he had endured. He felt obligated to protect her, protect her innocence, and when he had returned, he had been determined to preserve the memory she had of her big brother.

And as he watched the mental anguish take hold of her, he experienced it tenfold, knowing that he had failed her.

"Ollie…" she squeaked, "How- how did you get these?"

Oliver didn't answer. He was too caught up in the touch of his sister's fingers against the diagonal mark across his stomach. _Wintergreen's sword slicing through his flesh…_

The disfigured circle on his chest. _Yao Fei's arrow…_

The burns running up his right side. _Reiter's blowtorch…_

"I don't want to talk about it…" he mumbled darkly, gently but firmly pushing Thea's hands away, and closing his shirt once again.

"But, Ollie how-"

" _I said I don't want to talk about it!"_

Oliver regretted the words the moment they left his mouth. The way Thea staggered back in fear at the venom in his voice cut him deeper than any scar. He felt his heart break as her chin began to tremble.

"Thea…"

"I- I'm sorry." She choked out.

He extended a hand towards her, but it was too late. As the first sobs escaped her, she turned and fled from the room.

Oliver stood rooted to the ground, heartbroken. He'd never meant to do that, expose his darker side. The combination of his suppressed anger, and her cornering him like that had caused him to lash out. It was a survival reflex, one that had stayed with him since the Island. He knew he'd hurt her, and all he wanted to do was go after her, but another beeping of his phone reminded him that he was already tight for time.

Growling internally, he glanced at Sara, still asleep. _Damn it…_ he cursed. He would have to apologise to Thea another time. Right now he had a date with his mother, and an office he had no intention of stepping foot inside.

Scowling, he grabbed his suit-jacket and left the room, leaving both Sara and Thea behind.

…

Tears streamed down her face as Thea ran to her room as fast as her legs could carry her. Closing the door and locking it behind her, she collapsed back against it, her chest heaving and agonised sobs tearing from her chest.

 _All she'd wanted to do was see them…_

 _All she'd wanted was to understand him…_

Ever since the party, she'd been struggling to correlate him with the brother she knew and loved. When he'd turned her away then, she'd felt as though she'd lost him, had no way of relating to him anymore.

But when she'd seen his scars… she'd understood. She'd realised why he was cold, why he was withdrawn, why he'd isolated himself from his family. _She'd understood._

Finally, she had something to relate to.

But then he'd said those words. _I don't want to talk about it…_

And her relief had shattered. He'd done more than reject her. He'd _attacked her._ He'd verbally shoved her away and boarded up an invisible barrier between them. And that stung her more than anything else.

When he had first returned, she'd thought her suffering was over. _At last, she had her brother back. At last she had a friend…_

And now she was on her own again. Shut off. Miserable. _Alone._

As she heard the car drive off, she fisted her hands in her hair and _screamed._

Squeezing her eyes shut in a futile attempt to ward off the demons floating in her mind, she just wished it would end. Just wished there was some way to escape, to make him understand in the way she so desperately wanted him to.

And then she remembered.

She stilled, unnaturally so as she opened her eyes and her desk came into focus.

The world around her narrowed to the top draw as she pushed herself to her feet and silently walked over to it. She pried it open and there it was, the onyx throwing star the vigilante had given her.

Her tears dried as she gently picked it up and held it in front of her, gathering her courage. _He'd said to use it to protect herself…_

Her teeth ground against each other in an unnatural scowl, and she tore her cardigan and her shirt from her body, leaving her chest bare.

She glared at her reflection in the mirror. _Oh how she hated that reflection… that image of the person she hated more than any other..._

She looked down at her exposed arms. All the way up them ran layers upon layers of scar tissue. Hundreds of tiny, haunting lines brought upon by years of depression and self hatred. The most recent ones still presented as red, ugly scabs, inflicted by the very weapon in her hand the night she had received it. They'd been the deepest yet, and she'd barely had to cut.

Thea swallowed thickly. _This was why she understood Oliver, and the pain he had gone through on the island. This was why she had expected him to understand her own suffering. This was why she had been so crushed when she hadn't._

That changed today.

Her lip curled as she steadied her resolve. _She would make him understand._

Her eyes shifted from her arms to her stomach: pale, flat and unmarked.

A fresh round of tears formed as she brought the blade to it. They began to fall as she slid its horrible edge over her skin.

They dropped from her cheeks, and mixed with the ugly drops of blood that landed on the desk as she opened up a fresh cut across her torso.

One identical to that on her brother's.

…

"As you can see, Oliver, we've modernised quite a bit." Walter stated as the three of them stepped out of the elevator onto the top floor of Queen Consolidated.

Looking around, Oliver whistled at the polished marble and airbrushed steel. The man was right, things certainly hadn't been this fancy the last time he had been here.

Reaching the doors to his office, Walter's secretary held the door open, and he followed his mother and stepfather inside. He only just contained his sigh at the pretty assistant's flirtatious smile as he walked past.

While the tour so far had been surprisingly bearable for the most part – aside from a frustrating encounter with an overly talkative blonde from the IT department who had been most insistent on congratulating him for 'not dying' – and he _had_ enjoyed reminiscing some of the happier experiences he had shared with his father, he still found himself very much on edge.

His moment with Thea had put an irreversible dampener on his day, and his mother's behaviour had made him wary to say the least. She'd taken a lot of time to explain exactly how each department worked, in great detail, and she seemed intent on making sure he understood.

Combined with her insistence on him coming here in the first place, he was sure she was setting him up for something. And as they stepped into Walter's office and she turned to him, he had a feeling that something would be coming sooner rather than later.

Uncomfortable, unsure of himself, and surrounded by unfamiliarity, he found himself falling back on his teachings from the League.

"More recently, our biggest economic growth has been as a result of Queen Consolidated's targeted diversification." Walter explained, "In the last few years we've made impressive inroads in nanotechnology, clean energy and biomedical research."

"That would be neat, if I understood what any of those words meant." Oliver quipped, as he gestured to the secretary, "Excuse me, can I get a sparkling water, or something cold, please?"

' _If you ever find yourself in unfamiliar surrounds, always act more confident than you feel, or adopt a different persona, so your enemies cannot detect your unease…'_

The secretary nodded and headed for the elevator, leaving the three of them alone.

"Sweetheart, please, sit." Moira said, "Walter and I have something we'd like to discuss with you."

 _Here we go…_ Oliver thought. "Mom, it makes me nervous when you ask me to sit."

' _Never put yourself in a position that disadvantages you. Always maintain a position of strength and dominance to allow you to more easily attain the upper hand, even if it is purely illusional.'_

His mother looked at him curiously for a moment, before she conceded and stood once more, though now below Oliver's eye level.

Beside her, Walter took a deep breath. "We're about to break ground on a new site for the Applied Science's division, and we would like to honour your father by dedicating the building in his name."

"That's nice."

"There's more." Moira jumped in, locking eyes with him, "We'd also like to make an announcement at the presentation that you will be taking a leadership position in the company."

 _There it is…_

"No." Oliver answered flatly.

"No, _your_ company." Moira urged, putting her hands on his shoulders.

"No, mom, I don't want to lead _anything._ " Oliver denied, backing out of her grasp.

"Oliver, you told me you wanted to be a different person." She continued, "You _are_ Robert's son."

"I don't need to be reminded of that-"

"Obviously you do."

"Mom, are you even listening to yourself right now?" Oliver flared, holding his arms out in exasperation, "I don't even know what CEO stands for, and that was before the Island!" he shook his head. "What? You think I spent five years getting a masters in business while I was there? I spent that time catching fish with sticks and trying to cut my hair with a rock!"

He could tell from her surprised expression that she had not been expecting that, so he looked her in the eye and dropped his voice. "Mom, I'm not even fully back from there yet. I can't go outside without being reminded of what it was like there. Every time I close my eyes at night, I'm still there… still trying to survive… Do you really think I'm in any sort of shape to lead this company?"

Moira was silent at his words. She opened her mouth, but nothing came out. For a long time, nothing more was said.

"Oliver, if I may." Walter spoke up quietly. Despite his anger at his mother, Oliver forced himself to meet his eyes. The man had done nothing wrong, and in a way, he held a quiet respect for him, for the way he had taken on such a heavy burden of leading the company after Robert's death.

"No one is asking you to take over from me." Walter said reservedly. "We know the island must have been hard for you, in ways we can never hope to understand. What we _do_ hope, is that you can take this opportunity, and do something with it. Robert was a good friend of mine, and I remember him telling me how it was his dream to work with you, guide you, and one day hand over the reins to his son."

He paused.

"You don't have to give an answer right now, but should you choose to accept, you wouldn't be on your own. You'd be working side by side with me, learning the ins and outs of the business, just as Robert wanted. I know it must be hard for you to see me as anything other than a replacement for him, and I understand that, but I will endeavour to teach you everything I know, not as a stepfather either, but as a friend. This, I promise."

Oliver was still silent, his throat dry, truly stunned by the man's respectful words.

Walter offered a slight bow of his head, indicating he'd said everything he wished to say. "You don't have to answer right away, all we ask is that you take some time to consider our request."

Oliver returned his nod before averting his eyes and staring out the window. He was silent for a long time, thinking hard about what Walter had said, and how such a position – should he choose to take it – would affect his crusade.

Eventually, he turned back around. "When is the announcement?" he asked.

"Tomorrow afternoon." Walter replied.

Oliver focussed on him, eyes sharpening. "I'll think about it."

…

"So how was it?" Slade asked upon Oliver's return to the foundry, only to receive a tired sigh in response.

"As expected then…" the Australian mumbled under his breath as Oliver sat down at one of the computers and brought his index fingers to either side of his nose, resting his chin on his thumbs in contemplation.

"I trust you are thinking more clearly today?" Nyssa inquired as she joined them from the back of the room, breathing heavily from a sparring session on one of the dummies.

"Not really." Oliver answered blandly.

Nyssa cocked her head at his slumped posture. Fatigue practically radiated off him. "What happened at the office?" she coaxed.

"My mother wants me to join the company." Oliver said, his voice tinged with resentment as he span around to face the two of them. "Take my rightful place…"

"And what did you say?"

"Nothing." He answered. "I said I'd think about it."

"Like you've ever thought about anything kid."

Oliver rolled his eyes at Slade's comment. "I don't know what to do Nyssa." He admitted, focussing on the woman, "I promised my father that I would right his wrongs, and I promised yours I would not fail. And it's true, I won't let anything compromise our plans."

He brought a palm up and rubbed his face. "But I can't be the person I need to be if I'm… I don't know… attending board meetings and reviewing financial reports…"

He hung his head, defeated.

Nyssa took in his words carefully, chewing her lip in thought. Suddenly, a realisation presented itself.

"Oliver, did my father ever tell you the second best way to kill an enemy?"

He looked up at her, confused.

She smirked at him. "If you can't cut off his head, cut out his heart."

Moving past him, she gathered the list from his crate. Holding it in front of him, she flicked through the pages. "There is more than one way to go about this." She stated, "This list, you said all the names were associated with your father, but you had no idea _why_ they were all in there, or how they were connected?

Don't you see Oliver? If you join the company, take your father's place per se, you can gain access to this circle. If you can learn about them from the inside-"

"-It'll make it easier to take them down from the outside." Oliver finished, his head shooting up and his eyes sparking with new-found purpose.

He took the weather-beaten notebook from Nyssa and examined it himself, his mind suddenly racing, connecting dots and forming plans.

Nyssa watched him with interest, and not a small amount pride at his proactivity. When she saw his lips curl into a small, cheeky smile, she knew he'd had an idea of his own.

"What?"

Oliver stood straight and faced her, with just about the biggest grin she'd ever seen plastered across his face.

"I've just figured out how to get away from my mom."

 **I'm going to be honest, I'm really not happy with this one. It took me so long to get out because I was completely stuck on a lot of the interactions, especially the one with Sara and her family. It's incredibly frustrating because there's so much I want to reveal, but I'm deliberately pacing things because I need them to come out at very specific times to enhance particular themes and scenes. Laurel's feelings about Sara, and Thea's depression are two examples of this.**

 **As a result, I can't help but think this chapter is just a bunch of words vomited out onto a page with no real depth or structure. Whether that's true or not is another story, but unfortunately I am a terrible perfectionist (It comes from my earliest forays into sharing my work getting absolutely roasted for bad writing.), so as a result I'll probably go through and rewrite it a bit in the future when my brain is a bit less scrambled.**

 **Moving beyond that, you'll notice some scenes are changed slightly to canon, both in terms of dialogue and chronological order. I've done this just to make the story flow more easily with the extra scenes I'm adding. Also, you may have noticed that sometimes 'island' is written with a capital 'i' and sometimes not. This is deliberate. To everyone but the four, the island is just that: an island. To Oliver and co. however, it is so much more, and their perceived importance of Lian Yu is why I capitalise it when referring to it from their viewpoint.**

 **Thank you so much for your continued support and reviews! It means the world to me, and if I'm honest is the reason I want to keep pushing out chapters even though my mind is focussed on other work. Please keep sending me feedback and letting me know what you think! I'm very keen for the next chapter, in which Laurel gets a talking to, Moira gets a shock, Slade is an asshole to bodyguards and we see how Oliver's first meeting with Nyssa goes down…**

 **Stay tuned!**


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